


Let Me Help You With Your Baggage

by StillFeelLikeATeenager



Category: One Tree Hill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-01-20 18:31:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 92,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StillFeelLikeATeenager/pseuds/StillFeelLikeATeenager
Summary: Right as he was about to enter the terminal, something made him look sideways. Fucking cabbies. Maybe it was his small town origins and sure there was a drop off queue, and it was semi-chaotic, but a cab driver should still get out and help the person that had just paid a fare when they needed a hand. She already had a heavy looking back pack on, a small kid strapped to her front, and was trying to haul a massive case out of the cab’s trunk without losing the funky satchel that was over her shoulder. He had plenty of time. It would be his good deed for day.
Relationships: Peyton Sawyer/Nathan Scott
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	1. Let Me Help

**Author's Note:**

> What You Need to Know. Characters not mine, of course, but the story is. They’re in their early 30s and I see Nathan and Peyton’s personalities as being very much as they were in Season 6. Peyton and Julian never happened. Lucas and Haley are definitely not the heroes of this one. (Except for Lucas redeeming himself, but very late in the piece.) Unashamedly, a Neyton story so don’t expect anything else! I'm a bit nervy about starting posting when I have 4 chapters in the middle and 1 at the end that need work, but fingers crossed that'll make me knuckle down and finish them. The other 15 are done, so there's that ... Some steamy stuff later on but I don't think it crosses from M into E.

He looked ahead at the long line of cabs and town cars queuing at the drop off point and made a quick decision.

“Just let me out here, buddy.”

He handed several notes over, grabbed his compact carryon bag and leapt out, closing the cab door firmly, then turned and strode towards the entry door. He felt eyes on him. He always had. He still did. Something about the squared shoulders, the effortless way he wore the designer jeans, the casual but must have cost a fortune jacket, the expensive shades. Not so many eyes recognized him at first glance these days. And he kind of preferred it to be honest. Now they looked just because he was worth looking at, not because he was ... well, who he _was_, back then, back when. But he did like that they still looked, girls mainly. Well ... women. It was always good to know he still had _it_, that elusive head-turning thing that so many guys, even those actually much better looking than him, didn’t have. Even if the inclination to use _it_ wasn’t front and centre the way it had been. It was all just … a game. And a game that had become just a bit old. But _it_ was there. Charisma. Just enough arrogance to make him interesting, not enough to be a jerkoff.

Right as he was about to enter the terminal, something made him look sideways. Fucking cabbies. Maybe it was his small town origins and sure there was a drop off queue, and it was semi-chaotic, but a cab driver should still get out and help the person that had just paid a fare when they needed a hand. She already had a heavy looking back pack on, a small kid strapped to her front, and was trying to haul a massive case out of the cab’s trunk without losing the funky satchel that was over her shoulder. He had plenty of time. It would be his good deed for day. He was there in a second, said “Let me help”, lifted the case out of the trunk and onto the pavement next to the child’s car seat that was already there, dropped the trunk lid and hit it twice with his palm. The cab was gone in an instant.

“Thank you.” She didn’t even look up past the long, long slightly auburn waves that were covering the side of her face.

“No problem. You’d think he’d have helped his fare out, right?”

She jerked her head up suddenly, oversized, very dark glasses hiding half her face, but he could see her forehead slightly puckered in an odd, slightly confused sort of way. She smiled quickly, but it was gone in a flash, and she looked down again. It was a look he was used to, the ‘I recognize you but I’m too shy to say so’ or ‘I know I know you from somewhere but I don’t want to say so and look like an idiot if I actually don’t know you after all’ look. He saw it a fair bit. It was best just to help them out, be ‘normal’ and ignore it.

“You’d think, yeah.” She replied after a beat. He thought she might be English. There was definitely a plummy tone there, but maybe a bit of US underneath it too?

“Can I help you in? That’s a lot of stuff for one person to manage.”

“Thanks but I’m fine ...”

“Can I at least grab you a trolley then? While you wait with your gear?”

“Um … thank you. That would be really helpful.” Yup. Definitely a US origin under the English accent.

He disappeared for a few minutes then returned with the promised trolley. As he moved towards her, he looked her over. There was something about her but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It had been a while since he’d looked at a girl twice really, he didn’t quite know why he was now. She was slender, really slender, but not painfully so. Great metabolism slim, not sticking fingers down your throat slim. Old, well-worn jeans clung to her hips and legs. Long legs. _Impossibly_ long legs that ended in well worn, classic brown leather riding boots. A slightly hippy-looking wraparound top in swirling blues and greens. Funky jewellery. Everything said she was an individual that didn’t give a damn, but looked incredible anyway. While he watched, she was gazing at the top of the baby’s head, absent mindedly stroking its arm with her index finger, a small smile playing on her lips. She flicked her long hair back over her shoulder with her other hand, revealing a long, elegant neck and prominent collar bone. What _was_ it about her?

He reached her, swung her case and the baby seat onto the trolley and spun it around so she could take the handle.

“Thanks, Nathan.”

So she _had_ recognized him. He looked at her, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Sorry. Bobcats fan way back.” She smiled a small, slightly wistful looking smile.

“_Way, _way back. That’s a while ago now,” he replied.

“Yeah. Well, thanks for being chivalrous.”

“No problem. Have a good trip.” And he moved away, but threw one more look back over his shoulder. Damn. What _was_ it? There was something ticking away in the back of his head. He hated that. It’d bug him for ages now.

She didn’t move. Raised her face to the very late afternoon sun and let it warm her skin for a few minutes. Then she shook herself off and took the handle of the trolley.

“Goodbye LA. Hello … somewhere. Where shall we go Annie Elizabeth? Huh? Well ... you’re not much help are you, poppet?”

She moved off, into the terminal, close to a departures board, where she halted her trolley and leant back against the large post, one booted foot against the vertical surface so that her leg was bent.

“What have we got on the menu, Annie Elizabeth?” she murmured while stroking the baby’s arm. “Boston. Nope. New York. Hell no. Seattle. Mmm. Miami. Ew. Atlanta. Hmmm now _that’s _a possibility.”

Nathan grabbed the coffee he’d been waiting for then headed left towards the bookstore. He looked up as he took a sip. There was that girl again, leaning against a post, long, slender neck arched, head thrown back, leg bent with the sole of her boot against the post. And it hit him. Like the proverbial ton of bricks. That stance. He’d seen it so many times, _dozens_ of times. Maybe even hundreds. When a curly haired blonde, sharp tongued, angst filled cheerleader had waited outside for him after another Friday night high school game, or practice, or … just because she did. The resemblance was uncanny. He stopped and looked again. No. Surely not. But then ....

The age could be about right, from the little bit of her face he’d seen and if she’d looked after herself well over the years. _She_ was the same age as him but this woman looked a bit younger. Different hair but that was easy to change. Right height. Slender build but curvier. Well, it was what … 8 years since she’d gone, nearly 9? And she had a kid by the looks of it; if it _was_ her, that’d account for the shapelier hips and … yeah, he shouldn’t have noticed the rest. Probably. What had her voice been like just a few minutes ago? Softer, warmer, lighter. Had there been a tiny hint of a Southern drawl under that English thing? And had her head jerked up when she _heard his voice_, but before she saw his face? _Could _it be her? Maybe it wasn’t. _Probably_ it wasn’t. But he had to know.

When he got to her, her head was still back against the post, and he thought her eyes were closed behind those massive dark glasses. She felt him standing there though, dropped her foot to the floor and stood up.

“Sawyer?”

A wide grin split her face momentarily, then disappeared.

“Hey Nate,” she said casually, as if she’d just sidled up to him at lunchtime, in the quad at high school.

“What the …? Why didn’t you say something?” he asked, gobsmacked.

She shrugged. He looked at her, well, at those sunglasses then something clicked in him. Before she could stop him, he’d reached out and pulled them off her.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed under his breath.

It was probably a week old. Still purple and yellow, across the bridge of her nose, around one eye, which was a bit swollen still. It was probably swollen closed the day after the ... whatever it was.

“Sawyer, who did this?”

“It’s not what it looks like.” She looked him straight in the eye. There was no shrinking away, no embarrassment, no cringing. Maybe he was wrong.

“Good. ‘Cos it looks like some asshole took out his bad temper on you. Wanna explain?”

“Not particularly.”

He was jostled from behind, looked around, realized how many people were within hearing, spotted a small alcove near the escalators, took the handle of her trolley and started pushing it towards the quiet space.

“Hey!”

He looked over his shoulder.

“You want your stuff, you follow me,” he stated then kept walking.

She seriously considered not going after him. It was just stuff. And this was a whole can of worms she could really do without opening. But even if she was just to walk out of the airport again and grab a cab, she did need the baby car seat. It took her a good couple of minutes, but she followed eventually and stood in front of him, stubbornly saying nothing. He waited, arms crossed over his chest, for what seemed forever. She still didn’t speak. He caved, but didn’t pose the question again.

“I’m here really early for my flight. I can wait as long as it takes, Sawyer.”

“Fuck it Nathan!” she muttered. “Can you just give me the trolley and let me go?”

“Go where?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“So, you_ are_ running away from some asshole who did that to your face?” he quizzed her.

“I’m not a victim,” she said firmly.

“Doesn’t much look like it.”

“I’m not!” she insisted.

“Make me believe you and I’ll give you your trolley and walk away.”

“Where do you get off … it’s been way too long for you to think you can …”

“_You’re_ the one that left, Sawyer, so don’t pull that. You know I’d have kept in touch if you’d’ve let me know where you were.”

She nodded at that, sighing. “Yeah. Fair call.”

She blew out another sigh, a long one. “Okay. I’ll tell you, but can we sit somewhere? This backpack is heavy.”

“Coffee?”

“Actually yeah, that’d be great.”

He held his still hot coffee and found his spare hand had gently placed itself in the small of her back, while they headed back towards the place he’d bought his own coffee from. She pushed the trolley one-handed and, while they walked she kept stroking the baby’s arm, occasionally dipping her head to place her lips on its head.

“Sit.” He said when they reached the coffee bar. “You still have your coffee the same way?”

She nodded. “Yeah. But decaf.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Decaf? Peyton Sawyer on decaf?”

“Breastfeeding.”

“Oh. Right. Of course. Decaf it is.” He turned to go and get it then turned back. “I’ll chase you down if you move, Sawyer. You know I will.”

“I won’t run.”

He looked at her skeptically.

“Nathan. I promise.”

“Good enough. Never knew you to break a promise ... once it was dragged out of you.”

When he returned with her coffee, she was reading a nearby departure list screen.

“You really don’t know where you’re going?” he asked as he sat down.

“Nope.”

“Spill the beans, Peyton.”

“You’re right and you’re wrong,” she said carefully.

“About some asshole hitting you?”  
“Yeah. He did. But it has never happened before. And it will never happen again because I won’t let there be an opportunity. That’s why I’m leaving. I’m not stupid. I’m not a victim. I know that ‘I’m sorry and it will never happen again’ is not good enough and that if it happens once it will_ invariably_ happen again. So, I’m here at the airport.”

“Good.”

“So now can I have my stuff?”

“Nope. And you knew I’d say that, too. Tell me what happened.”

“Nathan, that’s a really long story. You don’t just get there in a five-minute conversation over a coffee.”

“So, do the Reader’s Digest condensed version.”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“You always were perceptive,” he said drily, making her roll her eyes at him.

“Alright. Condensed version. Met a guy. American but we met overseas. Seemed like a grownup. Going great. Hearts, flowers, violins. Moved really fast. Came back Stateside together. Proposal. Proposal accepted. He said he could handle me having a baby that wasn’t his ‘cos he couldn’t have kids anyway and he thought he wanted a family. Turns out he couldn’t handle it or didn’t, or both. Majorly jealous of the time I need to spend with Annie and work. He thought I’d stop working and be a good little Stepford wife. I, of course, said not on your nelly. Huge temper tantrum. I had a fit and threw his ring back at him. He threw a pretty damned good slap at me. Not a _punch_, a _slap_. Unfortunately, I was turning to walk away at the time so it caught me on the nose instead of the side of my face. Turns out Mommy’s spoilt little rich boy liked the idea of being a big hero who could say ‘hey look ain’t I the magnanimous man, taking on a readymade family’ but didn’t take too kindly to being rejected by a stroppy, temperamental, independent bitch like me. That was a week ago. I stayed with a friend for a few days then, when I knew he was away on a business trip, went back and packed up my stuff, most of which is in storage with my friend until I get settled somewhere. Bare essentials, mainly for Annie, are in that suitcase. So here we are, at the airport deciding where to go.”

“Asshole.”

She grinned and he suddenly saw the 17-year-old girl in there.

“Yup. Still. Better to find out now than after I married the jerk, right?”

He looked at her shaking his head.

“How can you laugh that off?”

She shrugged. “Oh, I did some crying, trust me. Now it’s done. Move on. Seriously? It really is better to find out now. I’d rather _not_ have a guy than have an idiot like that, despite the many millions I’d have been marrying. I have to think about this one now,” gesturing to the still sleeping baby. “And the last couple of days? Never let it be said that Peyton Sawyer is a slow learner. Well, not anymore at any rate. It’ll sure as hell make me vet any future possible step-daddies more carefully.”

“So, this little cutie is Annie?” he asked, nodding towards the infant that rested at her chest.

“Yeah. Anna Elizabeth Sawyer. Aged 6 months. Happy and healthy and a champion sleeper as you can see, just like her Mom. Best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“And named for your two Moms. She’s gorgeous, Peyton.”

“Also just like her Mom, huh?” she said cheekily

He smirked at her. “Well, when her mother’s asleep and not being lippy maybe.”

She looked at him. “You can ask, you know.”

“What?” he replied.

“You’re dying to. It’s been a long time, Nate, but I can still read you a bit. I told you he couldn’t have kids. You want to know if Annie came about ‘cos I screwed around on him.”

He looked a little embarrassed. And he’d forgotten that he could rarely, if ever, get anything past her.

“Look,” she said, “high school love triangles notwithstanding, and even with what? Eight, nine years of … well, nothing … you know me better than that. I’m not a cheater. I was already pregnant when I met Greg. Visibly pregnant too. There was no deceit involved.”

“And Annie’s father?”

“Not around,” she said without any suggestion of ill-feeling.

“You gonna give me more than that? Condensed again?”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“You’re lucky you got me on a chatty day, Scott. Umm. You know … whatever way I say this it’s gonna sound bad but it really isn’t as …”

“Slutty?” he suggested.

She hit him.

“Gee thanks. Okay ... it really isn’t as ‘slutty’ as it sounds. I’m an illustrator. I’m in demand. Very high demand. So, for a long time I’ve worked long hours to keep up; with Annie in the equation I’m more selective about the work I accept now so hours are shorter. But they were really long while I was building my profile. There was never time to … meet _anyone _really, let alone men. And because I work mainly alone, from home, there’s not many _opportunities_ to meet men, either. So, I had a kind of …um … ‘arrangement’ with another illustrator.”

“The old ‘friends with benefits’, huh?”

She looked for it, but there didn’t seem to be even the tiniest bit of judgement in his tone. And frankly, she wasn’t in the slightest ashamed.

“Yeah. And it was _great,” _she emphasized. “Perfect for both of us for a long time. But nothing’s 100% in the field of contraception, right? It wasn’t on his five-year plan, or on mine, but as soon as I found out, I just ... _wanted_ her. _Really_ wanted her. And I was 31, so I guess the clock was ticking a bit. So, I told him I was going to have her, and keep her, but that he had no obligations. He waived all parental rights legally and I made sure I got all the family medical history info I might need in the future and … and here she is. My girl. I came back from the UK so she could be born here, in the US.”

He didn’t comment, didn’t speak, just looked at her in an assessing way.

“You judging me, Scott?”  
“Nope. Just thinking you’re different.”

“Of course, I’m different,” she shrugged. “It’s been a long time. You’re probably different too.”

“Not very,” he said, shaking his head just the once.

“Well. I guess you’d already done your changing, growing up, by the time I left Tree Hill again. I don’t think I had,” she admitted. “And mine was long overdue.”

“Where’ve you been, since you left?” he asked, after taking another long sip of his coffee.

“Travelled for a year, mainly with my Dad, then most of the rest of the time in the UK, back in LA for a few months.”

“And you really don’t know where you’re going from here?”

“Nope. It’s no biggie. I can work from anywhere. I deal with most of my clients remotely unless something out of the ordinary comes up. Wonders of modern technology and all.”

And he had no idea where it came from but before he knew it, it was out there.

“Come home,” he said.

“What?”

“Come home,” he repeated. “Come back to Tree Hill. Get on my flight and come back with me. Take the summer off and figure out what you’re going to do.”

“No.” It was firm. Unemotional but firm.

“Why not?” he frowned.  
“Umm … let me think … anywhere _but_ Tree Hill would be my destination of choice.”

“Why?”

“I have no interest in seeing anyone from there,” she replied.

“You’re seeing me right now,” he pointed out. “And we’re having a high old time.”

“Ha ha. Fine. Anyone _else _then.”

“Just as well there’s no one else there, then,” he retorted smugly.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Seriously, Sawyer. There’s no one there. Brooke’s based in New York. She still has her house in Tree Hill but she’s never there, in fact I think it’s up for sale. Skills is usually around but he and Bevin have taken off to Europe for a few months.”

“Skills and _Bevin_?”

“Yeah. She came back, and bam! Instant reunion.”

“Wow. That’s kinda cool,” she smiled. “I always loved those two together.”

“So, they’ll be back right at the end of summer. Lucas is in London. That’s London, England, not London, Texas. He’s been there for years.”

“Oh. Wow,” she breathed out. “Thank _God_ London is a big city.”

He looked at her questioningly.

“I was in London too, for years before I came back to have Annie. I’m so glad I never ran into him.”

“That explains your posh English accent.”

“It’s fading.”

“So, the upshot is there’s just me kicking around Tree Hill for the next few weeks until Jamie arrives anyway.”

“What? Where’s Jamie?”

“With his mother, between tours. I just brought him out here to meet up with her. He’ll be back in three or four weeks and have the rest of the summer with me.”

Peyton looked really puzzled.

“Haley’s picked up her music again?” She knew she was out of touch with music these days but it must be even worse than she thought if she didn’t know Haley was recording and touring again.

“Yeah. Few years ago,” he explained. “After we split. It’s taken her a while but it’s really starting to pick up again now.”

“Wait, wait. Back up the truck, buddy. You and Haley _split_?” she asked, agog. “How is that even possible? You guys were like … that cute little saying you had … what was it? … always and forever!”

He laughed with no sign of discomfort. “Clearly not.”

“When? How? Why?” He just shrugged at her. “No way, Scott,” she insisted. “You just got not one but _two_ condensed stories of my big life events out of me. You have to at least give me _something_ back!”

“Fair call, I guess. Though I would like to point out that if someone had kept in touch a bit over the years these Reader’s Digest condensed versions wouldn’t be necessary.”

“Ya-da. Ya-da. Whatever. Just talk.”

“I guess it started with just drifting apart,” he said after a moment. “I was on the road a lot when I was still playing. When I was home, Jamie was my priority and I guess Haley felt … sidelined.”

“So, she what? Left? Asked for a divorce?”

“No. I did that.”

“But why, Nate? _You _asked for a divorce because _she _felt sidelined? That doesn’t make sense. Couldn’t you have worked it out? What was she saying?”  
“If she’d _said _anything we probably _could_ have worked it out. If she’d given me any indication at all. But she didn’t say a thing. I got home a day early from my last trip of the season, my second to last season, and she was in bed with someone else. In _our_ bed with someone else.”

“Shit. That … sucks.”

“Yeah. Still. As shitty as it was, it’s years ago, now. We’re civil. Ish. Well, we get on well enough to not have Jamie caught in the middle, anyway.”

“Wow. Haley James cheating on Nathan Scott. That’s kind of…”  
“Not what the punters would have picked if they’d known our respective histories? Yeah. It’s just a shame it took two marriages down with it.”

“Two? She was messing around with someone who was married too?”

He took a long look at her. Nope. He wasn’t going to tell her the whole story. Not yet.

“Yeah.”

“Ew,” she said, with a wrinkled nose. “Was it a bit … indelicate? Like … did you actually walk in on …?”

He laughed at her careful phrasing. “Hell yeah. Opened the door right as he was … well ... let’s just say I found out what a guy looks like when he’s ... what’s that expression? In fla something?”

“In flagrante? Though I’m pretty sure means the whole thing, not just that … particular moment. And I think it can mean any dodgy act, not just sex.”

“Yeah. Well. That. Anyway, not something I ever needed to add to my sexual education ... what a dude looks like when he’s ...”

Peyton smiled, then couldn’t stop a laugh escaping.

“Seriously, Sawyer. Not funny,” he complained.

“No. Sorry. I’m sure it was just _hideous _for you ... but did it ever occur to you that we girls have to see that expression every time?”

He looked offended … then cracked up. “_I_ do not look like _that_, trust me.”

“And you know this how, stud? Getting friendly with mirrors in your old age?”

His mouth dropped open, then he shook his head and laughed again. “Man, I missed you, Sawyer. Your smutty sense of humour … classic.”

“So … you divorced her?”  
“I served Hales within a week of that. Gave her the house, which she stayed in for a while then sold to fund her comeback album. I took the beach house. Finished out my playing contract the next season. Retired.”

“You miss playing?”

“I still play every day.”

“But the pros? You miss that?”

“Sometimes. The excitement, the competitiveness, the team environment. But I was lucky my back held out as long as it did, really, and that I got out before causing any damage that would’ve hung around the rest of my life. My knee was starting to play up too so I probably wouldn’t have had much longer anyway. I had four seasons from 22 to 26. I set a few records. That’s pretty good going.”

“And you still see a lot of Jamie?” she asked. “I remember how great you were with him.”

“Actually, he’s with me most of the time because of Haley touring, but it’s a good chance for him to spend some time with her now; no school and she’s got a break for a few weeks.”

“Well. I guess that’s something. Is he well? I bet he’s a great kid.”

“He’s awesome,” he said with wide, proud smile and a nod.

“What is he now? 13?”  
“14.”

“Wow. That means it’s 14 years since we graduated high school. I suddenly feel very middle aged. Does he play?”

“Sure does. Better than I ever was.”

“Really? That’s … kind of hard to imagine, Nate. He was a little shortass last time I saw him. And you were an _amazing_ player.”

“Yeah, he used to worry about being too short to play but he started shooting up a couple of years ago, and hasn’t stopped since. Plus, he’s got a fucking amazing coach.”

She looked at him with a questioning gaze, making him laugh.

“Me. I coach the Ravens, and the junior high team too. Picked up the Ravens coaching job the next school year after I retired, when Lucas took off, and added the junior high team shortly after that. So … that’s been me the last … five years. It’s a good life. Quiet-ish but good. Jamie’s just finished junior high. He’ll be at THHS next year.”

He looked at his watch.

“You need to go,” she said. A simple statement. Not a question.

“No. I was _really _early for my flight. I still have time. But you know what it _is_ time for?”  
“Well it’s too early for a drink!” she joked. “Besides, I won’t while I’m still feeding Annie.”

“No,” he said, “it’s time for you to agree to come to Tree Hill for the summer.”

“Nathan, that’s a really nice thought, but I need to get settled somewhere and work and …”

“You already said you can work from anywhere. It’ll be easier for you to work from my place than some crappy motel room. You can kick back for the summer, work a bit, figure out where you’re going to go, get a bit of a tan on that pasty ‘England-doesn’t-have-a-decent-summer’ skin of yours. I have so much space it’s ridiculous. You can have your own room, so can Annie and there’ll still be rooms left over to make a temporary office so you can work when you want to. I think I even have some of Jamie’s old baby furniture around in the garage, or the attic.”

She shook her head, laughing a little.

“You’re persuasive, Scott. I’ll give you that.”

“Persuasive enough for it to work?”

She looked at him, meeting those eyes that were usually dark blue but that looked grey right now. He reached out and touched her bruised cheek softly with just the tips of his fingers.

“C’mon Sawyer,” he said, “come home and take a breather. Just think. Instead of getting off a plane with a cranky, tired baby and having to battle with your bags, find somewhere to stay, which may well turn out to be infested with bedbugs by the way, you can get off the flight, have this handsome stud of a guy grab your gear for you, chuck it in the back of his Range Rover, which is at the airport waiting, be chauffeur driven away and then chill out in semi-luxury at the beach.”

She closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath, then met his gaze again.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If there’s a seat on the flight, I’ll go.”

“There’ll be a seat on the flight. What changed your mind? The studly baggage guy?” he teased.

“The guarantee that there won’t be bedbugs,” she quipped back without hesitation. “That _was _a money back guarantee, wasn’t it?”

He laughed at her and stood, grabbing her backpack.

“Geeze Sawyer. This weighs a ton. How on earth did you carry it? And what’s in it? Lead bars?”  
“Laptop, cables and stuff for that, sketch pads and work supplies for a couple of days, 48 hours’ worth of Annie’s essential supplies. C’mon, Scott,” she said, nudging him as she stood up, her hand protectively around Annie’s head. “Put some of that bulging muscle of yours into it. Chop chop.”

He slung it over his shoulder, fake groaning at the weight and ushered her and her laden luggage trolley towards the counter where they found, of course, that there was plenty of space on the flight, and that she could even sit next to him.


	2. Statute of Limitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Will you tell me why you left? Statute of limitations must be up, surely?”   
It came out of nowhere. He didn’t even know he was going to ask. But there it was.  
“Sure,” she said, surprising herself a little, and him a lot. “I’m kinda surprised Brooke never spilled the beans, to be honest. And it’s all ancient history now, right?”

He wasn’t surprised that she fell asleep quite quickly on the flight. A couple more stories from each of them from the intervening years. A lot of oohing and aahing over Annie. A rather lovely moment when she draped a soft cotton blanket over her shoulder to screen off passengers across the aisle so she could feed Annie, but made no effort to block off Nathan on her other side. He caught her eye and she shrugged, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

“You’ve seen it all before, right?”

He didn’t know whether she meant his ex-wife feeding his son, or whether she meant her own body. But either way, she made it so that it wasn’t a big deal and he somehow felt privileged that she trusted him.

Annie was soon settled and her Mom was asleep in a flash after that. Despite her seeming nonchalance about the whole slap-induced broken engagement, it must’ve been tough. And having a six-month old was exhausting anyway; he knew that, let alone doing it on your own.

She looked calm and even younger in her sleep. If only that bruise wasn’t there. It made his blood boil really, seeing anything like that. God knows he’d not necessarily treated the opposite sex that well for_ some_ of his life, including his own mother, but he had never hit a female, and he never would. He knew that. He figured if he hadn’t even been tempted to hit Haley when he found her … well … then nothing else would ever drive him to it.

Peyton woke, slowly, an hour out of New Brunswick airport.

“Hey,” he said, smiling at her sleepy eyes. “That was quite a nap.”

“Oh wow, sorry,” she said drowsily as she realized she was leaning against him. “Did I sleep on your arm?”

“Only the last hour or so,” he waved off her apology. “You were very considerate before that. Annie’s slept the whole time.”

“Yeah. The flight was kind of the perfect time for her. So, what are we … an hour or so out?”

“Yeah. Nearly home.”

“Not home for me, Nathan,” she reminded him.

“I know. I can hope though, right? It’d be great to have a few more cool kids around.” He paused. “Will you tell me why you left? Statute of limitations must be up, surely?”

It came out of nowhere. He didn’t even know he was going to ask. But there it was.

“Sure,” she said, surprising herself a little, and him a lot. “I’m kinda surprised Brooke never spilled the beans, to be honest. And it’s all ancient history now, right?”

** **

** _Nine years earlier_ **

_It was a pretty shitty day, weatherwise. Squally rain off and on. Cold wind too strong to allow use of an umbrella. She’d had errands to run that couldn’t be put off and as a consequence was now sitting at her desk at the studio, with her feet in damp, slightly squishy shoes, wearing damp clothes and with her hair dripping onto her shoulders. There was yet another message from John on her voicemail. What the hell did he want? She sighed, picked up the phone and dialed his number. May as well round off an already crappy day then hope tomorrow was better. She spun her chair sideways, taking her shoes off and putting her feet, slightly wrinkly toes from the damp, up on the shelving unit at the end of her desk. _

_“Ms Sawyer! Glad to see you do know how to return calls.”_

_“John. What can I do for you?” she said in her most bored tone.  
“No hello? No terms of endearment for your label partner?”_

_She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and spun her chair back to face the desk. Great. Just … great! Lucas. Obviously back from his honeymoon. Just what she needed. He held his hand up in a greeting in that ‘sorry to interrupt you but I’m going to anyway’ way he had. She nodded and pointed at the phone, holding her fingers up to indicate how long she’d be. Lucas nodded in return and sat across from her._

_“John. You’ve got two minutes. What do you want?”_

_“Wow, no beating around the bush at all, huh? Okay. I can respect that. How’d you like to be a very wealthy young woman?”  
“I’m doing just fine on the financial front, thanks John. More than fine as you well know.”_

_“Then how’d you like a change of scenery?”_

_“I’m not coming back to LA, John. We’ve discussed this.”_

_“No, I was thinking more the Riviera, or Paris, or Timbuktoo for all I care.”_

_“What the hell, John?”_

_“You’ve always wanted to travel, Sawyer. I remember that idealistic Pippi Longstocking view of yours. Now’s your chance. We’ve been approached by someone that wants to buy Red Bedroom.”_  
“I’m not selling.”  
“It’s a lot of money, Peyton. You’d be set for life, or the next decade anyway.”  
“I’m not interested. I’m not selling. And a decade would be a pretty short life.”

_“Offer’s on the table for 48 hours.”_

_“Can’t see anything happening that would change my mind in the next two days, John.”_

_“Well, I’m emailing you the offer anyway. If you don’t call me, you don’t call me, but I’m obligated to present it to you.”_

_“Fine. Email it. Don’t expect my call. We done?”  
“Adios, Sawyer.”_

_“Yeah. Bye, John.”_

_She ended the call and looked at her visitor._

_“What was that about?” he asked_

_“None of your business, Lucas. What can I do for you?” she said impatiently._

_“I thought I’d drop by, let you know I’m back.”_

_“I can see that. But if you’re back then I’d have seen you at Nathan and Haley’s for beer and pizza night on Friday anyway. There was no need to stop by, especially in this shitty weather.”  
“I can see you got caught in it,” he smiled. Huh. Funny. The smile wasn’t working its usual magic on her. What the hell did he want?_

_“I had to go out. I had things to do that couldn’t wait any longer. Lucas ... I’m busy. If there’s nothing else…”_

_“Peyton, don’t be like this,” he whined._

_“Like what?” she demanded. “I just don’t understand why you’re here. We’ve had this conversation. I said I’d do my best to let you go. You kept making it really hard for me to do that. We had it out. I told you I’d play nice when the group was all together. You promised me that outside of group things, you’d leave me alone to work it out. Coming to my place of business to tell me you’re back from your honeymoon, is not leaving me alone to work it out.”_

_“I know, Peyt ...” _

_She threw him a filthy look; they’d talked about him shortening her name too. _

_“Sorry. Peyton. I know, but I just can’t. I can’t leave you alone to work it out. I need you in my life.”_

_“Not fair, Lucas. We had a deal. You don’t get to renege on it. You don’t get to keep pulling those strings.”_

_“Peyton ...”_

_“No Lucas! This isn’t fair!” she exclaimed, leaning forward, her eyes blazing. “If you want us to be friends again, if you want me to be a friend that’s in your life,” (said with her fingers making air quotes) “you need to give me the time and space to get past you. You told me you would. You’re going back on your word.”_

_He stood and walked around her desk, crouched down in front of her._

_“But I need you, Peyton,” he said intensely._

_She shook her head._

_“Right now, it’s about what I_ _need, Lucas. Can you go, please?”_

_“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t really mean that,” he insisted, his eyes burning into hers._

_She closed her eyes, shaking her head again._

_“I do. I do mean…”_

_But her words were cut off by his lips. Her eyes flew open and yes, it was actually him. Kissing her. Back from his honeymoon for what? Less than a day? And he was in her office, breaking his word, and dammit! kissing her._

_She pushed his shoulders back hard, sending him off balance so that he sprawled on the floor._

_“What the hell ...?” He stood up, leaning in towards her again. She fired her hand across his cheek, the noise of the slap ringing loudly._

_“Don’t you dare!” she shouted back. “Don’t you ‘what the hell’ me, Lucas Scott. What the hell was that?!”_

_“I told you,” he said, with an expression that looked an awful like entitlement on his face. “I need you.”_

_“Get out!” she yelled. “Get the hell out of my office and don’t come back.”_

_“C’mon. I’m your land …”_

_“My what? My landlord?” she gasped. “Is that what you were going to say? Are you seriously_ _gonna use that to force your way in here? Fine. I’ll email you my notice by the end of the day.”_

_“You won’t do that, Peyt,” he said with confidence, arrogance even. And dammit, he shortened her name again._

_She looked up. God, he didn’t even look repentant. What the hell was going on? _

_“Just watch me!” she insisted. “And just go, Lucas. Please.”_

_“Fine. But this isn’t the end of this.”_

_“Says the married man,” she said bitterly._

_“What if I told you it was a mistake?” _

_Mistake. It reverberated around in her head. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. She’d heard that before, secondhand, from Brooke. He’d told Brooke she, Peyton, was a mistake, back then, in the midst of that awful triangle. Then he’d tried to weasel his way out of it with some confusing, semi-explanation. That he hadn’t meant Peyton was a mistake, just the way he’d handled things. Right. Bullpucky. Amazing what hindsight did._

_“Lucas. Your mistake was coming here. Leave. Now.”_

_He stepped back._

_“This isn’t over.”_

_“Oh yes, it is, Lucas. It is so over.”  
“I’ll see you at Nathan and Haley’s on Friday night.”_

_“You’re despicable. Now get out.”_

_He went, throwing a look over his shoulder that she didn’t even want to think about. He really didn’t think this was it. God was there no way out of this never-ending drama? She knew she’d made mistakes (damn that word, again) but even when she _tried _to do the right thing it kept coming back to bite her in the butt. What did he think was going to happen? That she’d get involved in some extramarital triangle … that she’d be his mistress_?

_She shook her head and shuddered, then flicked her screen back up. The email from John was there already. He must’ve had it ready to hit send. Could today keep getting worse? She opened the attached document and scanned it, her eyes widening. Holy shit. Maybe there _was _a way out. And maybe she was looking at it. She picked up her cell phone and scrolled down, hitting connect, and beginning her pacing around the studio._

_“Mia? It’s me. I need to talk to you about something. Something big.”_

_Half an hour later she was off the phone, still pacing, and making another call._

_“John? It’s me. Draw up the paperwork. I’m selling. The condition is it has to be final by close of business Friday ... yeah I know that’s fast, but you’re the big label president with lots of expensive lawyers at your disposal. You make it work by end of Friday or the deal’s off.”_

_She ended the call then scrolled down her contacts list again and pressed another name. This time she was smiling from ear to ear when she spoke._

_“Hey Dad! Question for you; you know how we talked about one day ...”_

** _Friday night_ **

_She pulled up outside Nathan and Haley’s, noting that she was the last to arrive. Brooke’s new BMW SUV was there, as was Skills’ truck, and Lucas’ Mustang. She sat for a moment, then pulled a lipstick out of her bag, touched up her mouth in the mirror, and opened the door. She stepped behind the Comet, opened the trunk and heaved out the box. When she got to the door she pressed the buzzer with her elbow. The heavy door flew open a moment later to reveal Haley, who was looking the other way and laughing. When she turned her head, she looked puzzled._

_“Peyton. Hey! Why’d you buzz?” she asked. “Just come on in, you know that.”_

_Peyton gestured at the box with her chin._

_“No free hand for the door handle. Sorry, Hales.”_

_Haley looked at the box, and looked even more puzzled._

_“Why did you bring wine? Friday is beer and pizza night. And it’s Skills’ turn to bring the beer; there’s heaps.”_

_“Not just wine, Hales,” she answered. “Champagne. French, too. ‘Cos my buds deserve the best. And by the way, can I come in and put it down ‘cos it’s kinda heavy.”_

_“Oh right. Of course.” _

_They stepped into the living room where a couple of people looked up and greeted Peyton, including Nathan. Haley yelled out, just as a lull in conversation hit the room._

_“Nathan! Oops,” she cringed. “Too loud. Sorry guys! Nathan, come and help Peyton with this box of wine.”_

_He was there in a second, removing the box from her hands._

_“Why’d you bring wine, Sawyer? It’s beer and pizza on Fridays.”_

_“That’s what I said, honey,” Haley leapt it._

_“And?”_

_“It’s French champagne,” Peyton inserted quietly, with a twinkle in her eye that Nathan, quite frankly, found a little disconcerting. She’d been kind of a shadow of herself for a long, long time. “And it’s chilled already. I’ve got big news. Let’s organise some glasses.”_

_She followed her friends into their kitchen, helped Haley pull down champagne glasses and line them up on the counter. The noise in the living room had returned to its usual Friday night level, but when Nathan and Peyton started popping champagne corks that soon stopped. The crowd was soon gathered around the counter, and Haley passed out glasses as Peyton and Nathan poured._

_“Not to complain about very, oh … make that very, very good French bubbly,” Brooke said as she checked the label, “but what’s going on? Hales, are you preggers again?” _

_“Hell no,” Haley replied. “Thank goodness, ‘cos now I can drink a few of these. It is really good bubbly. Peyton brought it. She has news. Apparently, we’re celebrating.”_

_Brooke looked at her roommate. “Peyton? What’s up? Has this got anything to do with why you’ve hardly been home all week? Have you got a boy? I don’t _see _any new boys in the room,” she teased, casting her eyes about, then teasingly looking down the hallway as if searching for a new arrival. “Especially not boys worth a dozen bottles of France’s finest.”_

_Peyton beamed the smile she’d been practicing all afternoon._

_“No boy. Better.”  
Nathan smirked. “A girl? Awesome. I’m in to watch that action.”_

_Peyton and Haley locked eyes and nodded, simultaneously slapping him hard on the arms, one from each side._

_“Ow! No fair! That’s … mean.”_

_“Well, you were rude to our guest,” his wife replied._

_“It’s Sawyer! She’s not a guest, she practically lives here.”_

_Peyton laughed. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone, Scott.”_

_“Like that’ll ever happen,” he retorted, “you’d miss me too much. I’m the best besty you could have.”_

_“Hey!” Brooked jumped in. “I’m the best besty she could have, thank you very much. She’d miss me much more than you.”_

_“Settle down children,” Peyton laughed. “I promise I’ll miss you both the same.”_

_Brooke looked at her._

_“P? What do you mean you’ll miss us both the same?”_

_Peyton squared her shoulders._

_“That’s why I’m a bit late, guys. I had to wait for a document to come in before I got the celebratory bubbles, and it just came in a half hour ago.”_

_Nathan was frowning at her. “That doesn’t answer Brooke’s question. What do you mean you’ll miss us?”_

_Peyton looked around the gathered group._

_“We’re celebrating. I just signed the biggest deal of my career.”_

_Brooke stepped forward._

_“Well that’s all fine and dandy P. Sawyer but I know you and that’s not the whole story. Deal schmeal. What aren’t you saying?”_

_Peyton took a deep breath and plastered that smile on even more firmly._

_“I just sold the label. I’m officially a ‘very wealthy young lady’ as John McKnight put it. And I’ve decided to go travelling. Meet up with my Dad and kick back for a bit. I’ve always wanted to and now I can. So, if I’m hijacking tonight as my farewell, I figured the least I could do is bring good booze.”_

_Haley looked at her with a stunned expression and teary eyes. “But … what about Mia?”_

_“I know Hales,” Peyton said softly, painfully aware of how she and Haley had reconnected and resolved their issues by partnering to launch the career of the young singer Haley had heard under the cacophony that was that grungy band. “I talked to her first. I have her blessing. She understands.”_

_“Well I don’t,” interjected Brooke. “What’s the deal? Where did this come from?”_

_“I know it seems completely out of the blue, Brooke,” she sighed. “And to be honest it was. The offer came out of nowhere but … it’s just too good to turn down. It sets me up for the next decade; more even. I can go spend some time with my Dad. I can travel as long as I like. When I come back I can do whatever I want. I’m thinking I can get back into my art. Maybe open a gallery.”_

_“When you come back?” It was Nathan. “Which will be when, exactly?”_

_She shrugged, feeling a red flush start up her face. “Don’t know.” She looked around, her eyes meeting Skills’. He sensed her growing discomfort and leapt in to help her out._

_“Well ... you go, baby girl!” he grinned. “That sounds like a kick ass deal. Now,” he said, clinking glasses with her, throwing his arm around her shoulders and dragging her away, “we need to talk about how I can offer you, Miss Moneybags, my services as a bag carrier and general all round assistant slash good guy slash body guard maybe even slash boy toy on your travels around the world.”_

_She leant in and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Skills.”_

_“No problem, baby. But I’m damn serious. I’ll be a fine bag carrier, and an especially_ _fine boy toy.”_

_At some point in the evening, she was approached by Lindsey._

_“Peyton?”  
“Oh hey Lindsey. How are you? How was the honeymoon?”_

_She’d finally realized, in the days before and after the wedding, that it wasn’t Lindsey’s fault. She was just a girl in love with a boy. It wasn’t Lindsey’s fault that Lucas had strung her, Peyton, along. That he’d told her to move on but made it impossible for her to do so, with his longing looks and his words chosen to throw her headlong back into memories of a distant past. Hell, Lindsey wouldn’t even know what he’d done. But she found it hard to believe that he didn’t get it himself. She’d come to think that Lucas had deliberately, knowingly done it. If not out of a cruel wish to exact revenge, then because he honestly thought he could somehow have them both. His little visit to her studio the day he got back to town after his honeymoon left her thinking it was the latter. But still, not Lindsey’s fault._

_“It was … fine, thank you,” the new Mrs Scott said with a vague air about her. “So … congratulations. That’s a pretty big deal if it has you set for a few years.”_

_“Thanks. Yeah. It’s exciting,” Peyton said as genuinely as she could. Not Lindsey’s fault. But still, it hurt. “It’s good ... you know ... to have choices.”_

_“When will you go?”_

_“Oh. Soon. Hey … I better go mingle. Nice to talk to you Lindsey. I’m glad the honeymoon was … fine.”_

_She was heading towards Mouth and Millie when one of her arms was grabbed by Nathan and the other by Brooke in what looked like a carefully orchestrated pincer movement. They frog marched her outside to the pool, where Haley was waiting. The three of them stood, arms crossed, and murderous looks on their faces._

_“What is this,” she laughed “an intervention?”_

_“Maybe,” Nathan replied, “’Cos you seem to have completely lost the plot.”_

_“Peyton, you love the label,” Haley said, “why would you sell it with no warning, no ... contemplation?”  
Brooke just stood, eyes burning into Peyton’s, foot tapping._

_“I know Hales, but ... it’s an amazing offer and it’s just too good to turn down.”_

_“Not buying it P. Sawyer, you don’t give two hoots about the cash,” retorted Brooke._

_“Guys. Seriously? I’m a big girl. It’s my label, my business, and I can do what I want with it.”_

_“But Peyton, this is just so out of character,” Haley again, imploring. “There must be something else going on. Is it your Dad?”_

_“No, Hales,” she replied, loving that they cared but not prepared to go into detail. “My Dad is fine. It’s not that.”_

_“Not that? So, there is something else,” leapt in Brooke. Damn her knowing Peyton so well. “Is this because Lucas is back from his honeymoon? Can you not handle it?”_

_Peyton stiffened at the mention of his name. She couldn’t help it and the involuntary movement gave her away._

_“Peyton,” breathed Haley, “it’ll get easier.”_

_Peyton rounded on her. She was over the pity. None of them understood how much he’d said, and done, to make this even harder than it would have been anyway. She might not have told them about it all, or any of it, but still. It wasn’t fair if they thought she was just being a coward and running away. She’d moved on from that. She’d faced her feelings, she’d been open about them, as excruciatingly difficult as that had been, and it hadn’t worked, but she had been able to accept that, to a degree. But not … not the way he was clearly going to continue to make it hard._

_“No, it won’t, Haley!” she exclaimed. “Not as long as he keeps coming to my office and saying … stupid things ... and doing ... stupid things. We had a deal. He’s not sticking to it.”_

_“What deal?” Nathan._

_Brooke stepped in. She was the only one that Peyton had told about the conversation she’d had with Lucas just before the wedding. She’d told him she couldn’t go, that she knew it wasn’t gracious but that she just couldn’t. He’d said he got it, that he knew it was hard but that if she could just do this for the sake of their friendship, he’d really appreciate it. In return she’d asked him to leave her alone afterwards, to give her time and space. He’d agreed. It, like so many of his promises, had meant nothing. “Guys,” Brooke said, “I think you should head inside. I’ll deal with this. I’ll … fill you in later.”_

_“I’m …”_

_“Nathan, please,” Brooke insisted. “Let me handle it.”_

_The married hosts reluctantly went inside, leaving Brooke with a disturbed Peyton._

_“P? What happened?” she asked, fearing the worst._

_“He came to the studio on Monday. First day back from his honeymoon. And told me he needed me in his life. I told you about the deal, Brooke. He promised! He promised he’d give me time and space to let me get to grips with things.”_

_“He always was hopeless without having you as a friend, though.”_

_“Don’t make excuses for him, Brooke! This is different.”_

_“I’m not. Not really. But I know how crappy it is when P. Sawyer isn’t your friend too. And how much better the world is when you get her friendship back.”_

_“You don’t run around kissing me though.”_

_“What!?”_

_“I reminded him about the deal. I asked him to go. Multiple times. And instead, he kissed me.”_

_“What did you do? Peyton, you didn’t …?”_

_“No! God, no! I shoved him over, then I slapped him and then I told him I’d give him notice on the studio lease ‘cos he played the ‘I’m your landlord you can’t stop me coming here’ card.”_

_“God, he sucks. But … isn’t that enough? Relocate the label. Avoid him for a bit. Do you have to leave?”_

_“Brooke. He did that on the same day he got back from his honeymoon! You really think he’s going to honour the deal?”_

_“Well, there is that,” the brunette conceded._

_Peyton toyed with the car keys in her jeans pocket._

_“Brooke,” she sighed. “I’m going to go. Can you bring my bag when you come home? I really don’t want to go back in there and deal with Nate and Haley right now.”_

_“Sure. We’ll talk later?”_

_“Yeah. That’d be good.” She turned and slipped out the pool gate, walking around the side of the house to her car._

_Brooke stalked towards the house, where she was met at the door by Nathan and Haley._

_“Your brother,” she gestured at her host, “and your best friend,” she said to Haley, “is a jackass of the highest order.”_

_“What’s he done now?” Nathan asked_

_“That’s something you’ll have to ask him. Or, realistically, Peyton. ‘Cos he’ll either not answer or lie his way out of it. She’s really going, guys. We can’t stop her and, after his latest circus stunt, I can’t say I blame her.”_

_The next morning, early, as if they sensed she’d be gone if they turned up later, Nathan and Haley were on Brooke’s doorstep, bearing coffees and pastries. Peyton answered the door, hair a mess, a baggy T-shirt barely covering her underwear, and rubbing her eyes._

_“Sexy, Sawyer,” Nathan quipped as he pushed past her._

_“Well, good morning to you too, Scott,” she mumbled. “Banging on our door at 7am on a Saturday? One of those coffees better be for me, and it better be double strength.”_

_“We’ve come to find out what the hell’s going on,” he replied, handing her a coffee._

_“I’ll get Brooke,” she answered._

_“You need backup on this?” he quizzed._

_“Maybe.”_

_A few minutes later, the four of them were sitting around the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and breaking bits off pastries._

_“Peyton,” Haley began, “we really don’t want you to go.”_

_“I know,” she said calmly, “but it’s done. The deal is final. And I’m going.”_

_“You can stay, even if you have sold the label,” Haley argued._

_“Haley, I can’t. I really just ...”_

_“Sawyer,” Nathan cut in, reaching out to cover his hand with his. “I know it sucks. I know it’s hard. I do. But c’mon. You’re you. You get through this crap. You screw up your courage and face it head on, or,” and he turned his usually winning grin on her, “maybe with some emo drawings and loser rock, and you deal with it.”_

_“Nate. Emo drawings and loser rock are not going to get me through this.”_

_“But, what_ _is this?” Haley insisted. “Why did Brooke say Lucas is a jackass.”  
“Well, he is,” Nathan said with a chuckle. “We already _knew_ that.”_

_“Nathan! He’s still my …”  
“Yeah, yeah, your best friend. But even you admitted he was a jerk to Sawyer.”_

_Peyton looked at her in surprise. “Foxy?”  
“Peyton, he was. He was a jerk to you. I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time for a while. I … I know he took it too far, some of the mean stuff he did. I just think … you threw him for a loop, you know? He got really confused and …”_

_“No excuses, though,” her husband interrupted. “He was an ass, and he chose the wrong girl. We all know that. But we don’t want to lose you. We don’t want you to leave.”_

_“Guys, I love you for your support. I do. But I really need this. I really need to go and do something big and new and exciting. Something just for me, you know?”_

_“But,” Haley asked again. “Why did Brooke say Lucas is a jackass? What did he do?”_

_“Haley,” she sighed. “It’s just … look … I asked him to leave me alone for a bit and he said he would, but he hasn’t. And he won’t. And I can’t deal with that. I … I need to get my own life. He’s already demonstrated that he won’t give me space, so I need to go for a while to get my life back.”_

_Haley looked at Brooke, who just gave her a subtle nod. Clearly there was more going on but they weren’t going to get it out of Peyton anytime soon._

_“You’ll keep in touch? And you’ll come back?” Haley asked with a tremor in her voice._

_“I’ll try.”  
“Not good enough, Sawyer. Promise.”_

_“Nathan …”  
“Promise!”_

_“I … I’ll try.”_

_He shook his head. Dammit. He knew what that meant. No promise; no deal._

Sitting in the plane, she told Nathan everything … except about the kiss Lucas had more or less forced on her the day he returned from his honeymoon. As they started descending, Nathan could only shake his head.

“That brother of mine. Looks like he just kept doing more and more serious versions of the same old shit as the years went by.”

“I don’t even know what that means, but I just … I just remember thinking I’d tried so hard to step back and let it be, and I was trying to do the right thing and move on, like he asked me to … no, like he _told _me to … and he just … I just didn’t know what else I could have done.”

“Sawyer, you always did try to blame yourself for other peoples’ shitty actions. Just don’t go there. It’s how the liars and cheaters and backstabbers get away with it; poor suckers with good hearts … like you … blame themselves. I never once blamed myself for what Haley did. And I refuse to. You should do likewise.”

Annie seemed to agree with him; she opened her gorgeous green eyes and beamed a big smile at Peyton, before she started grizzling just a little bit. Even in a descending plane she was near perfect.


	3. Snapshot of A Beautiful Girl

Her host is nowhere in sight when she gets up the next morning, awoken from a deep sleep by the sound of Annie gurgling away in the travel cot next to her own bed. Nathan had been amazing last night when they arrived; hauling some of Jamie’s old baby gear out of the back of the garage and helping her clean it up, removing dust and the odd cobweb. She’d set the old travel cot up in the guest room, along with her own gear, expecting Annie to be at least a bit unsettled for few days and therefore reluctant to put her in a separate room. But her daughter had been angelic; calm and content and had drifted into her usual settled sleep after some warmed-up baby food and a quick nurse. Peyton supposed she could think about moving completely to solid foods, but … well ... there was no rush, right? And Annie was already growing up so fast; dropping the last couple of breast feeds each day was tantamount to admitting she almost wasn’t a baby anymore.

An hour later and it’s already heating up, so she decides to take Annie down to the water before it gets too hot. Somehow it seemed right that her daughter’s toes would be dipped in the ocean for the very first time here, as her own had been. Annie had always loved baths and showers, but the ocean was on a whole different scale, and there were already dozens of people out and about, and Peyton really wasn’t sure how Annie would react to the sound of the waves rolling in, and seagulls circling above. She needn’t have been even remotely concerned. The only noises Annie emits are squeals of absolute delight.

“Water baby, huh?”

She turns to see Nathan approaching, in basketball shorts, with his T-shirt tucked into the back of them, sweat absolutely dripping off him.

“Hey! Yeah. First time in the ocean for her.”  
“Ever? Not in LA?”  
“Nope. I like that her first dip in the sea is here. So was mine. You’ve been running in this heat?”

“And the gym.”  
“Where?”  
“At the high school.”

“You ran to the school, pumped iron and ran back?”  
“Uh-huh.”

“You’re insane.”  
“Gotta keep in shape.”  
She laughs, looking him up and down and finding that she certainly appreciates his form. As an artist, that is. Yes, as an artist. He’s seriously sculpted after all. “Yeah. Right. ‘Cos you’ve really let yourself go, Scott.”

“Like what you see huh, Sawyer?” he teases, moving to pull her into a sweaty hug which she neatly avoids by stepping back and dunking Annie’s toes into the water again. Annie giggles and coos, batting her baby blues at both her mother and Nathan.

“Ohmigod, she’s totally flirting with you!” Peyton exclaims.

“Hah! Must be in the Sawyer blood; having a thing for Scott boys,” he retorts proudly.  
“Shut up! That was all a long time ago.”  
He merely grins and tosses his T-shirt a few feet away, then runs into the tide up to his thighs before diving in.

A few minutes later he’s back and offering to hold Annie for a bit if Peyton wants to swim. She thanks him but says she doesn’t have a swimsuit with her; maybe she’ll go and buy one at some point. He thinks for second.

“Check out the cupboard in the laundry room. There’s a few in there that have been left over the years. There might be something that’ll work.”

“Thanks. Hey! Can you dunk Annie’s toes in for me so I can get a photo?”

Of course, he’s happy to, and she hands her baby girl over, racing over to her canvas tote to grab her phone. She gets some cute shots, which she is showing to Nathan when they are approached by an older woman.

“Would you like me to take one of all of you?” the woman asks with a cheerful smile.  
“Oh … no, that’s …” Peyton begins, but Nathan cuts her off.

“That’d be great,” he grins. “Thank you so much.”

“Pleasure,” she says, as Peyton hands her the phone. The woman groups them with Nathan standing behind Peyton, who is holding Annie’s back to her own chest, and takes a couple of quick snaps, asking Peyton if she wants to take her sunglasses off for a shot or two, which Peyton declines quietly, a little sombrely. Just as the woman’s about to hand the phone back, and sensing Peyton’s change of mood, Nathan reaches around her side to tickle Annie’s feet and she giggles madly, waving her little hands about. The woman quickly retracts her hand and snaps away again.

“You’ve got the ticklish gene from your Mommy, Annie,” Nathan says with a chuckle.

“I’m not ticklish!” Peyton protests.

Nathan looks at her with his mouth open. “Right!”

“I’m not!”  
“No? Not even … here …?” he reaches behind her and touches his fingertips to one spot under the side of her rib cage, then tickles, pulling his _I told you so face_ as she shrieks. Lord, she’d forgotten. It was the only ticklish spot she had and no one had found that spot in years. She tries to move, but he’s so much stronger than her and she doesn’t have a hope of escaping his strong arms, especially as she’s got to keep a grip on Annie. She’s giggling and shrieking. He’s laughing at her. Annie’s jiggling in her arms and clapping her wee hands and chortling.

“Stop, stop, stop,” she gasps, breathless with laughter.

“You give?”  
“Yes! Stop!”

The woman swipes back through the photos, smiling, then showing them to Nathan when he steps over to her to have a look.

“She’s a beautiful girl,” the woman says to him.

“She sure is,” he agrees with a smile.

The woman hands Peyton’s phone back to her, shrugging away Peyton’s thanks.

“Gorgeous family,” she says to her.  
“Oh, thank you, but …”  
“Thanks,” Nathan cuts in again. “And thanks again for the photography skills.”

“There’s some goodies there,” their documenter says as she turns and wanders off. Peyton swipes through the photos, noticing that as well as the shots of the three of them, and Annie being tickled, there are several of her being tickle-tormented by Nathan too.

“Oh look,” she says, pointing to her favourite of Annie, thinking she’ll have to print some of these for framing when she’s settled again. “She was right; Annie _does_ look beautiful.”

“She does,” Nathan agrees lightly, reaching down to grab his T-shirt from the sand, “but that woman was looking at a shot of _you _when she said that.”


	4. The Reappearance of Brooke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crap. He suddenly realizes that, weirdly, other than him telling her that Brooke wasn’t even in Tree Hill and has her house on the market, he and Peyton haven’t talked about Brooke at all since they met at LAX a few days ago. He has no idea if the two historically best friends are still best friends, if they’ve drifted apart or if they fell out. Or if Brooke even knows Sawyer has a kid. And he’s also very aware that he got Sawyer and Annie here on the back of a promise that no-one would be around. Brooke Davis has just made a liar out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in case you doubt that crawling thing with Annie; don't. My very own kiddie-winkle crawled for the first time just that way.

A few days later and Peyton insists, as a good houseguest, on restocking the fridge and pantry. Nothing he could say would persuade her otherwise, so she’s gone to do grocery shopping, leaving Annie with him, at his request.

He finds he’s loving having a baby around. Despite how young he was when Jamie was born, he took to fatherhood in a way no one could have predicted. Maybe it’s because he’d had such a stellar example of how _not _to be a father. Over time, he’d often found himself, if stuck, asking what Dan would have done, then doing the exact opposite. It had worked well over the last few years with Jamie, since Haley had been around so little. He hadn’t been a hands-off Dad when Jamie was a young baby, not at all, but Haley had taken the lead and in hindsight, he realizes, he’d let her. He’d stood back too much and maybe missed out on a lot of the pleasure of the day to day _small_ things as a result. Annie is awesome, and he’s loving having her total and utter cuteness around. More than once he finds himself wondering if Peyton was like this as a baby, before the crap she’d endured later in life built up her walls, sarcasm, defenses. Mind you, she’s lighter now than she was. Maybe it’s being a Mom.

So here he is, sitting out on the deck, in just basketball shorts, enjoying the sun on his back and feeding Annie while she jiggles about in Jamie’s old highchair, while Sawyer is off at the grocery store, no doubt battling queues. He hears the front door bang shut, thinks it’s far too soon for her to be back, then hears a familiar, raspy voice yelling out, a voice he hasn’t heard for a long while now.

“Hey, Scott! You here, Hotshot?”  
“Oh boy,” he mutters to Annie, standing, placing the bowl on his seat, quickly checking the high chair is braked, and stepping inside, where a vivacious brunette in a designer sun frock and pretty, strappy sandals is looking about.

“Brooke,” he greets her cautiously, “didn’t know you were in town. Thought you were selling up.”

“Sold. So, have to clear out my storage unit and the house.” She looks him up and down, her eyebrow arching. “You look good. Obviously still hitting the weight room hard.”  
“Let me go get a shirt,” he mutters in response.

“Oh … not on _my_ account,” she flirts. “In fact, feel free to wear less, not more.” She takes a couple of steps forward and trails her fingertip down his chest provocatively. He steps back so fast he almost trips over his own feet.

“Brooke!” he protests firmly. “I’ve told you before; rein it in. Go put the kettle on. I’ll grab a shirt.”

He shakes his head swiftly as he heads into the laundry to find a T-shirt, trying to get her overly flirty tone out of his brain. She’s even more blatant than she was the last time he saw her.

Over the last few years, not that he’s seen that much of her, Brooke Davis has reverted to the brazen flirt she was in the first couple of years at high school. He knows he shouldn’t judge, or label, or … whatever … but from what he hears, she’s been pretty … _indiscriminate _since leaving Tree Hill. A different hot bachelor on her arm at every red-carpet event, and a brittle ‘always on’ way of speaking that makes him wonder where the amazing Brooke Davis of senior year, and the following few years, has gone.

He’s only gone a minute, just to grab that T-shirt and pull it over his head, but when he gets back, she’s out on the deck, standing with her hands on her hips, looking more than bit confused. Oh shit. Annie.

“So,” she says when he appears in the doorway, “care to explain this very, very beautiful baby girl on your deck? And why you didn’t tell me my godson now has a sister?”

“Jumping the gun just a bit there, Brooke. She’s not mine.”

“Oh. Really? Her eyes are kind of like yours. Well. Whose is she then?”  
  


Crap. He suddenly realizes that, weirdly, other than him telling her that Brooke wasn’t even in Tree Hill and has her house on the market, he and Peyton haven’t talked about Brooke at all since they met at LAX a few days ago. He has no idea if the two historically best friends _are_ still best friends, if they’ve drifted apart or if they fell out. Or if Brooke even knows Sawyer has a kid. And he’s also very aware that he got Sawyer and Annie here on the back of a promise that no-one would be around. Brooke Davis has just made a liar out of him. He checks his watch quickly. If he gets Brooke out of here within half an hour, he should be safe, then he can tell Peyton and check the lie of the land and …

“Nathan?” Brooke prompts. “Whose baby?”

“Aah … a friend’s. Staying with me for a while.”

“A he friend? Or a she friend?” she presses. “And if it’s a _she _friend, is she a friend or a _friendly_ friend?”

“Brooke! Seriously! A she. A friend. That’s all. She’s getting groceries, before you ask. Quick coffee?” He emphasizes the _quick_, hoping she’ll pick up on it.  
“Sure,” she replies, “I did put the kettle on.”  
He heads back in and efficiently makes the coffee. When he gets back onto the deck, Brooke is cooing to Annie.

“What’s her name?” she asks, tilting her face towards Nathan as he hands her the coffee.  
“Annie.”  
“She is divine. Do you think her parents would consider her modeling?”  
“She’s six months old!” he exclaims. “Bit young for the catwalk, don’t you think?”

“I’m starting a baby and toddler line. Baby Brooke. Cute, huh?”  
“I guess.”  
“She’s perfect. If I give you a business card to pass on to her parents, will you ask them to call me? If they’re interested?”

“Brooke, I don’t know …”  
“No pressure, promise. If they don’t call, that’s cool. Though … I can make this little angel a baby star. She’d have a college fund before she was even in grade school.”  
“Yeah … probably not something that would motivate her Mom,” he comments.  
“Just a Mom? No Dad?”

He nods and gestures towards a seat, then reclaims his own and resumes spooning Annie’s lunch into her mouth.

Brooke chuckles. “Aww, look at you!” she says. “Soooooo cute! Where did you say Mommy … oh groceries, right?”

“So, how long you back for?” he asks.

“Just as long as it takes to clear out the house, pack up the stuff I want to ship back to New York and get the rest to Goodwill.”  
He nods, pulling a face at Annie as he does so. Brooke chuckles again.

“Who’s around?” she asks. “Skills and Bev?”  
“Nope. Europe.”  
“Just you then?”

“Aah …” he doesn’t want to lie, but he really can’t drop his house guest in it. Then he’s saved from having to answer … though that probably isn’t going to be a good thing.

“Hey guys! I’m back. No queues!” comes Peyton’s voice from from the kitchen, and he hears doors being opened and closed as she starts putting things away. He leaps to his feet, wanting to get in there and warn her but, ex pro athlete or not, he’s not fast enough to beat Brooke Davis, Clothes Over Bros CEO, when she’s on a mission.  
“Ooh, goody,” she says, already halfway across the deck, “I can pitch to Mommy!”

“Brooke …” he tries to warn, but she’s inside the door, then she’s pulling up and turning to stone. He grabs Annie and follows Brooke in to find the two women both stock still, staring at each other wordlessly.

“Right,” he says to break the growing tension, “so ... this is …”

“Oh, my freaking God!” Brooke recovers first. “P. Sawyer? Or is it P. something else?”

Peyton ducks her head for a second then meets Brooke’s stare again.

“P. Sawyer, still,” she eventually says. “Hey, Brooke.”

“Hey, Brooke? _Hey, Brooke!_ Oh, my God, where have you been? For what? Eight … nine years? P. where have you _been_?”

So ... that answers that question. They haven’t been in touch, but Peyton looks truly baffled, he thinks.

“Um … kind of all over the place for a year or two. Travelling. With my Dad, then England. Now back Stateside.”

“And you could get in touch with Nathan but not me?” Brooke demands sulkily.

“No! Brooke, _no_!” Peyton says earnestly. “We … Nate and I just ran into each other at LAX a few days ago. and I was kind of … between gigs so he invited me here for summer.”

“Peyton. I ... _why_?”

“Why what?”  
“Why’d you cut ties?” Brooke asks, hurt written all over her face.

“I didn’t. You did,” Peyton replies, genuinely confused.  
“But … I didn’t know where you were,” Brooke counters. “You said you’d let me know.”

“I did.”  
“Peyton Sawyer, do not stand there and lie to my face!” Brooke protests with an accusatory tone, pointing her beautifully manicured finger at Peyton to emphasise. “I get enough of that bullshit all day every day. I never heard a word from you.”

“But …”  
“But what?”  
“Brooke … I _did!_ I called … a _lot _of times … and I emailed my contact info to you at least twice. You never replied.”

Brooke looks pissed, and shakes her head in protest, then realising that Peyton is entirely genuine, her mouth falls open and understanding hits her.

“That _cow_!” she exclaims. “Bitch-toria! She must’ve screened you out.”

“Seriously?” Nathan asks in disbelief. “Why?”

“She always hated me,” Peyton laughs despite her anger. “Even when we were, like eight or nine, she’d look down her nose at me like I smelt.”

“Why?” he repeats.

“Because I loved my P. Sawyer more than my own mother,” Brooke replies, teary eyed, before flying across the room and hurling herself, full speed, at Peyton. “God, I’m sorry, P.,” she says half crying, half laughing. “I should’ve known something was up.”

After a long hug, Peyton steps back, holding Brooke at arm’s length, a frown forming between her perfect eyebrows.

“Brooke, slap me for saying this if you must, but are you okay? You seem … I dunno … are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” the brunette says firmly. “I’m great.”

“Really?” Eyebrow raised, hand on hip, Sawyer’s not believing a word of it, and when Nathan looks more closely, even he can see how tired Brooke looks; the shadows under her eyes, the slightly nervous chewing of her lip, and lack of the usual fire behind her good looks. She looks … brittle.

“I’m fine! Fine, fine, fine. Just dandy … Oh fuck! I’m a mess.”

And Brooke Davis breaks down.

Peyton leads her to the sofa and pushes her to sit, grabs Annie’s sunhat, passes it to Nathan and shoos them out to the beach to take a walk.

“Give me an hour?” she asks apologetically. He simply nods and leaves her to it.

“C’mon you,” she says to now sobbing Brooke, “tell me all about it. Must be quite the tale of woe to have you like this.”

And it all comes out: the pressure; the bitching and backstabbing and takeover attempts from Victoria; the utter loneliness of her life in New York with no true friends, not like her P. Sawyer; and no decent boys. Peyton queries that, telling Brooke that she has seen dozens of photos of her with handsome men on her arm.”

“All a façade,” Brooke sobs. “All picked by Mommy Dearest for a few photo opps and maximum PR for the company.”

“Brooke,” she breathes, “_honey_. Can’t you say no?”

“I … I just don’t have it in me to fight anymore,” the brunette whispers in embarrassment, wiping the last few tears off her cheeks.

“When was the last time you spent time with someone because you wanted to?”

“A boy?”  
“Or a girl, a friend, just … anyone with whom you could chill and be you.”  
“Um … I don’t know,” she says, bewildered at the question. “Couple years ago, I guess.”

“_Brooke!_ That’s just not right. Who was that?”

“Julian.”  
“Tell me about him.”  
“Julian Baker.”  
“Oh. I know that name … he’s a bigshot movie producer, right?”  
“Now, yeah. Then he was just starting to break out from indie.”

“Brooke … isn’t he … isn’t he _married_?” Peyton asks, looking very concerned.

“Yeah.”  
“Brooke …”  
“I didn’t _know_! P., I swear I didn’t know. And then … I found out and I stopped it. And he said he’d leave her. But … he had this massive hit on his hands and his father … he owns the studio … he just stepped in and shut it all down. Said they couldn’t take the scandal and …”  
“Scandal? Oh please! In Hollywood? Divorce is par for the course. Married at appetizers, divorced after dessert.”

“I …”  
“Oh, honey.”

“I loved him,” she sobs anew. “He got behind the wall and he got under my skin and he ... he just _got _me and I really, really loved him, P.”

Peyton folds her into a hug and holds her, not caring a jot that Brooke’s tears are soaking through her top.

“And let me guess, B. Davis,” she soothes. “You’ve just thrown yourself into work ever since and worn yourself out completely.”

“Mmm. And …”

“And tried to bury your broken heart in too many cocktails and too many meaningless flings?”

“Oh God, I missed you.”  
“I missed you, too.”

“And you have the world’s cutest baby girl ever! And I don’t even know her!”

“Well, best we make up for that, huh? While you’re here?”  
Brooke sits up, drying her tears.

“The plan is to be here a week or so. No more,” she says sadly.

Peyton shrugs. “So, change the plan and stay longer. Brooke … you’re the CEO! Just tell them.”

A small smile appears. “I _am_ the CEO, aren’t I?” She’s trying to sound brave, really, she is, but there’s doubt there. And Peyton sees right through her.

“You want me to hold your hand when you call them?”  
“God yes! Would you?”

“Of course.”  
“All this emotion! I need a drink!” Brooke exclaims.  
“I’ll make you a tea.”  
Brooke stares at her blankly.

“Oh. You always used to have tea after a tizz,” Peyton explains. “You want more coffee instead?”

“No. I want a _drink_.”

“Brooke, it’s 11 am.”  
“It’s five pm somewhere, isn’t it?”  
“Brooke …” she warns.  
“Fine! Coffee.”

“Brooke, do I need to take you to a meeting?” Peyton asks as she moves towards the kitchen.

“For what? Oh … no! I’m not a boozehead, P.”

“Says the girl that wants a drink at 11am,” Peyton says drily.

“I … I could do with cleaning up my act a bit. But I don’t have a _problem_.”

“Fine. But I’m watching you.”

“So … hey!” Brooke says, suddenly animated, getting up and moving over to the kitchen counter. “Before I knew you were you, I was coming inside to pitch to Annie’s _Mommy_, to let her be the face of Baby Brooke.”  
“What the hell is Baby Brooke?”  
“My new label. Babies and toddlers. It’s amazing! My best stuff ever. So … what do you think? Wanna make your girl a star?”

“My girl’s already a star. And no.”

“Can I persuade you?”  
“Not a chance.”

To her credit, Brooke doesn’t keep pushing. The two sit, over their pot of coffee, and talk. And talk.

Nathan returns, a happy Annie in his arms, and perches on the arm of one of the sofas for a few minutes, listening the Brooke and Peyton gossip and chat. It’s like the years apart were mere minutes.

Brooke, gazing at Annie as Nathan gently bounces her on his knee, grips Peyton’s wrist and smiles wistfully.

“She is so gorgeous, Peyton.”

“She’s not bad, huh?” Peyton laughs, waving at her daughter and pulling a silly face.

Annie coos and reaches out and Nathan leans down to put her on the floor. Annie coos some more, rocks a little and peers across the rug to her mother, a determined look appearing on her dimpled little face.

“Oh,” Peyton gasps a little.

“What?” Brooke asks. “What’s wrong?”  
“I … I think she’s going to try to crawl,” Peyton all but whispers.

“Really? Isn’t it a bit …”  
“Early? Maybe. A little. It’s supposed to be good if they crawl for a long time before they walk though … wires up the brain or something.”

Annie casts her long-lashed eyes down and peers at the rug a moment, at her chubby little fingers that are spread on it, then rocks a little more. She gurgles a little then looks back up at Peyton and purses her rosebud lips then, as if she’s been doing it for weeks, she crawls confidently and directly across the rug until she’s right at Peyton’s feet.

“Bah!” she crows.

“Bah, indeed!” Peyton laughs, leaning down to pick up her clever, clever girl. “Bah!”

“Bah!” Annie responds, then bats her palm against Peyton’s face. “Bah.”


	5. It Must Be the Pears (A Kiss is Just A Kiss)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 'other' Scott boy reappears.

She’s been there a little over a week, spending hours playing with Annie on the deck or on the beach when her daughter is awake and doing little else but relaxing, soaking up a little sun, kicking back on the deck chatting to Nathan and/or Brooke when the six-month old is asleep.

Following her host’s suggestion, she had raided the cupboard in the laundry room and found, much to her surprise (and Nathan’s amusement), a couple of old pairs of cuffed denim shorts of her own, circa Junior year (one pair fit ..._ just_ … though she’s sure they used to be a bit longer), a fairly utilitarian one piece swimsuit that was a little faded but would do the trick, and a couple of guy’s shirts that Nathan said he had no clue as to their origin. Enough to see her through a couple of days before she needed to hit the mall, at any rate. She felt she needed to build up her courage for that.

She’d also been building up to go and visit her Mom’s grave, not really knowing _why_ she needed to build up to it, why she hadn’t just gone on day one. When she’d mentioned that she thought today might be the day, Nathan had thrown her his car keys and said “Go. Now. I’ll watch Annie.” He’d grinned as she protested. “I know you want to introduce her granddaughter to your Mom, but I also know you’d like some time alone first. It’s been a long time since you caught up. Yeah?”

She’d expressed her amazement that he got it; her crazy talking to her dead Mom thing. He’d just smiled and agreed that yes, he was kind of amazing and she’d better not forget it in a hurry unless she wanted to be homeless for the summer, but whatever she decided about where her own ass would be sleeping, he’d be keeping Annie, thanks very much.

Three hours later and she’s storming back into the beach house, slamming the front door … hard. Nathan appears from the kitchen, one of Annie’s cotton ‘blankies’ over his shoulder, and an almost empty bowl of mushed up stewed pears in his hand. Annie is in the highchair, grinning madly, pears from here to next Christmas.

Peyton stands, hands on hips and fumes silently. Part of her mind is registering the very manly Nathan Scott, with baby accoutrements. _Her_ baby’s accoutrements. It’s cute. _Really_ cute. But then she’s fuming again.

“So, what did my front door ever do to you?” he asks pointedly.

“Sorry,” she says turning to look at the door for a second. “Fuck!”

He turns and puts the bowl on the counter, covering Annie’s ears.

“Don’t listen to the foul-mouthed floozy, bubs. Even if she is your Mommy.”

Peyton can’t help but laugh.

“So, what’s got your goat?” he asks.

“’_No one will be around, Sawyer’,”_ she intones with a snarky voice.

“We had this conversation. How was I supposed to know Davis would turn up to clean out her house and storage locker? I didn’t know the house had sold and I didn’t know she even _had_ a storage locker.”

“And your brother?” she accuses.

“What about him?” he asks, not following her direction.

“I missed him at the cemetery … by the skin of my teeth, I might add. But I’d already left a flower on Keith’s headstone.”

“What about it … the flower I mean?”

“I’m pretty sure he spotted that it was the same kind as what I put on my Mom’s grave. He’ll figure it out and he’ll realise I’m in town.”

A thought occurs to her and looks at him in an accusatory manner.

“Please tell me you didn’t know he’d be around. You didn’t send me off to the cemetery knowing he’d …?”

Nathan initially throws his hands up in an exasperated gesture but then sees how deeply perturbed she is and backs off.

“No clue. Promise. Sawyer, I _promise_!” he adds firmly when she looks at him skeptically.

“And when you invite him here, you’ll give me enough warning to clear out for a while, till the coast is clear?” she pleads.

“Why would I invite him here?”  
“Umm. Because he’s your brother?”

“So?”

“Okay. So, you do that guy thing, catching up over a few beers in town instead. Away from the house,” she nods, relieved. “Cool.”

“I won’t catch up with him at all,” he says with certainty. “Pretty sure he won’t show his face here and I’m in no hurry to initiate anything.”

“But ... he’s your ... Nate,” she says with a conciliatory gesture with her hand, “you don’t need to do that for me.”

“Sawyer. Stop,” he says, wiping his hands on the cloth over his shoulder and wrapping his hand around her forearm. “Look, you … you never asked who the guy was.”

“What guy?” she asks, perplexed.

“The married guy that I caught Haley with.”

“Nathan? What are you saying?”

“Take a wild guess who it was,” he says drily. “In _my_ bed, with _my_ wife.”

“You’re not serious!?” she gasps, her mouth open.

“Yup. My own brother,” he confirms, turning back to feed the last of the pears to Annie.

“Lucas?”

“No other brothers that I know of. You were well out of it, Peyton. Leaving when you did. Best move you ever made. Well, up until this little one, I guess,” he says, gently placing his large hand on Annie’s head.

“Oh, my God. Nathan, I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry about, Sawyer. It wasn’t you in bed with her. Hmmm,” he grins cheekily, “now _that_ I could have lived with! But like I said,” he continues with a little shake of his head, “you were well out of it.”

“That’s just not …”

“Not like him? Don’t romanticize history, Sawyer. If you think about _his_ history, it’s actually _very_ like him. He always managed to wrap it up in a pretty package and call it something tortured like _being torn between two great loves_, or _being confused_, or _hiding his heart_ or whatever, but when it comes down to it he was always a cheater.”

And the whole sordid mess plays behind Peyton’s eyes; the amateur dramatics of a high school love triangle, a long-distance relationship that ended in a botched proposal, the botched proposal that ended in him drunkenly hitting on Brooke again, the mess that was Peyton’s year back in Tree Hill, the way he played her, kept her on a line, then kicked her to the kerb, then tried to hook her in again to be what? A bit on the side? Looking at it all with an older mind, a more cynical eye, or just a wiser eye, she could see it for what it really was. A lonely, insecure girl that was desperate for the safety and security she’d never had, but who was locked into a cycle of the most important guy in her life leaving her. First her Dad. Then him, the not much older brother of the guy sitting in front of her now.

“I ... I guess you’re right,” she says. “I never really looked at that way, but you’re right.”

“Takes one to know one I guess, but at least I grew out of it before I got married.” He throws an apologetic look at her. “Maybe not early enough to avoid being a dick to you, but at least before I got married.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about the old days, Nate. I wasn’t exactly easy to be around back then. I know that. And you and me? We were past that old crap a long time ago. Wow. I still can’t believe it. So, um … after Haley and … what happened to Lindsey?”

“I made him tell her. Dragged his scrawny ass out of my bed. Called Lindsey, got her over right then and there. Stood there and made him tell her.”

“What did she do?”

“Threw a fit; a very Ivy League, awfully polite, button-down sort of hissy fit, but a hissy fit nonetheless, then she flew to New York and served him with divorce papers within a week.”

“Shit.”  
“Oh … and … I just remembered this. You’ll love this bit,” he says with a merry twinkle in his ye.

“What?”  
“She accused him of being a serial cheater right from the start, emotionally if not sexually, until Haley anyway, and let out that while they were on their honeymoon, he called her by someone else’s name right in the middle of …”  
“Ew!” she interrupts him. “Why would I love that?”  
“’Cos it was your name,” he deadpans. Then wriggles his eyebrows at her suggestively.

“Jesus! Oh, my God,” she mutters in realisation, “_that’s_ why Lindsey was so off hand about the honeymoon at that party. Oh God, that poor woman.”

“Yeah. Anyway. As you can now appreciate, he won’t show his face here. You’re safe.”

Peyton steps forward to pick up her pear-smeared daughter who is waving her arms about excitedly.

“Hey Pumpkin. Or maybe Pearface,” she coos. “You need a bath. Nathan’s made you all sticky.”

She goes to move away then turns back.

“Hey Nate?” she says gently. “Thanks. For taking care of Annie so I could visit my Mom. She looks like she had a great time with you.”

“I had a great time with her. She’s kinda cool, Sawyer.”

An hour later, Peyton is back downstairs, and Annie is fast asleep.

“God, I wish Jamie had slept like that,” her host comments. “He was a monster. Didn’t sleep through the night until 9 or 10 months old.”

“I’m expecting it to change soon,” Peyton chuckles. “Apparently, I was the same as her until about 7 or 8 months then all hell broke loose. I’ll just make the most of it while it lasts.”

“So,” he asks waving his beer bottle at her, “can you have a beer or a small wine? I’ll chuck some steaks on the BBQ a bit later.”

“Actually, you know what … yeah,” she smiles, thinking about timing. “It’ll be hours before she wants fed again so a few mouthfuls will be fine. But just half a small wine. I haven’t had any for … well ... since I found out I was pregnant. I’ll be such a cheap drunk! Shall we sit on the deck? It’s gorgeous out there.”

They sit and chat in the late afternoon sunshine and before they know it, an hour has vanished. There’s a comfortable silence for a while before Nathan speaks again.

“Can I ask you something?” he says curiously.

“Sure.”

“Without you biting my head off?”  
“Now _that_ I can’t promise.”

But she’s smiling, and he figures she’s been pretty damn open with him so far. He hasn’t really seen any sign of that cagey, closed off girl she used to be.

“Why did you get so antsy about Lucas being in town?” he asks, squinting a little against the lowering sun. “You still have feelings?”

“God, no.”

She stands, turns her chair around so her back is to the beach and the sun is no longer in her eyes. Facing Nathan, she sits again, removes her hair elastic, tips her head back and shakes her hair out, raking her fingers through it.

“That’s better,” she sighs. “I hate having to have my hair tied back so tight, but it has to be out of Annie’s reach; she’s yanking so hard right now. Um, Lucas? No. Not harbouring any lingering cravings for _that_.”

“So why so … aggravated?”

“I don’t even know. It’s just ... he was such an _ass_ to me,” she says strongly with an accompanying shrug. “And here he is, this mega, _international_ bestselling author, who got his start with what was kind of _my_ life story. I mean, his as well obviously ... but ... you know ... a lot of it was mine. And I just ... if I bump into him, I just know he’ll be all superior and condescending.”

“About what?” he asks in surprise. “You’re hugely in demand for your picture book illustrations. Plus, you’ve got this big, wildly hard-core fan base for your ‘underground’ stuff. _Plus_, and I know you haven’t painted for a while, but last time you did the prices were insane.”

“What?” she asks, frowning. “How did you know all ...?”

“I can Google with the best of them, Sawyer,” he admits with a grin. “The point is, why would _you_ feel inferior to _him_?”

“I shouldn’t,” she sighs. “I know that. But he always just had that ... I dunno ... ability to make me feel not good enough. I never saw it back then. But in hindsight I see it so clearly. I was always the closed off, emotionally stunted, troubled, hard-done-by girl that he swept in and made feel better. Then swept out and left me feeling like I wasn’t good enough again.”

“That was then,” he replies. “What would you feel ‘not good enough’ about now?”

“I dunno,” she says with another shrug. “Being on my own. Being a solo Mom.”

“He, of anyone, should appreciate what a great mother you are, even on your own, or maybe because of it,” he insists. “You … you remind me of Karen, you know?”

“Really? Wow,” she says, genuinely touched. “That’s like ... the gold standard of motherhood. Well, maybe he _should_, but I don’t think he _would_ … appreciate it, I mean. He’d find a way to make it about him and about me saying no and about how it could have been _our_ family. That’s just the way he always was with me, always about what I could have had with him if I’d just …”

She shudders.

“Not a happy thought, huh?” he chuckles, pleased to see she’s not still pining after his loser of a brother.

“Can you imagine if I’d been with him when he and Haley … God!” she shudders again. “That would’ve been so messed up … hideous. Excruciating.”

She looks up but Nathan seems to have zoned out a little and is semi-focussing on something in the distance.

“Nate? You okay?”

“Umm. Not necessarily,” he says slowly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take you back to that image again.”

“No. It’s not that,” he assures her with an accompanying wave of his hand. “I … I think that guy in the distance on the beach might be him.”

Peyton turns her head towards the beach and follows his gaze.

“Maybe,” she says uncertainly. “Not close enough for me to tell.”

“I’m pretty sure,” he replies, frowning deeply.

“You think he’s heading here?”

“Why would he?”

“Why would he be in town? Why would he come here?” she says. “Who knows? Maybe he wants to make amends.”

“He’d better make a couple of decent fists first,” he says blithely.

“Nathan. Really?” she admonishes gently. “Is it worth giving him the satisfaction?”

“Nah. You’re right.”

He continues to watch the figure walking.

“He is angling up to the pier a bit,” he observes.

“I’m not turning to look,” she says a little nervously. “If he keeps heading this way, I’ll just go inside.”

“You’ll just stay put,” he counters with a reassuring look. “I’ll go down to the end of the pier if it is him and if he even gets that far. If you don’t turn around, he won’t know it’s you.”

She smiles her appreciation. She’d forgotten how very nice it was to have a Scott boy looking out for you. Well, _this_ Scott boy anyway.

“And if he asks who the hot redhead is,” Nathan continues with a cheeky grin, “I’ll tell him you’re my latest flame.”

She laughs. “Redhead?”

“It is in this sunlight,” he nods. “Red and gold.”

He leans forward and twists a tendril around his finger.

“It suits you,” he muses. “You were a pretty hot blonde, Sawyer, but this is kind of spectacular.”

“It went like this while I was pregnant,” she explains with an almost nostalgic tone. “I thought it’d go back but it hasn’t. Anyway … your latest ‘flame’ appreciates the compliment.”

He chuckles a bit, makes a smartass comment about her actually being able to _take_ a compliment graciously every so often these days, then looks out to the beach again.

“Well. I’d say he’s spotted the house is open and someone’s home and is going to try and grace us with his presence. He’s definitely heading towards the pier now. And he’s got a backpack. Hope he’s not planning on spending any time here. I’ll go down and head him off.”

“Don’t get in a fight. It’s not worth it. _He’s_ not ...”

“... worth it. I know. I’m better than that these days.”

She grabs his hand as he goes to stand.

“You are,” she agrees. “Even before I left you were great, Nathan, but now? I’m really glad that cab driver was a lazy git. It’s really good being here with you.”

Nathan looks at her and she can see a thought forming, but he shakes it away.

“What?” she asks.

“Nah. It’s dumb.”

_“What?”_ she insists.

“He’ll only be in town a few days, a week at most … he never stays longer than that.”

“And?”

“You just said it was really good being here with me. We could …”

“What?”

“Make him think you _are_,” he suggests. “With me, I mean.”

“You’re right,” she laughs. “That’s dumb. Like … schmaltzy romantic comedy lame ass movie dumb.”

“We _have_ pulled it off before.”

She looks puzzled.

“That college party?” he reminds her. “When Haley was off on tour and Lucas was all wrapped up in Brooke and you and I were both miserable and crashed that frat party so we could just get trolleyed?”

“Far out, I forgot about that!” she exclaims. “Those jerkoffs kept hitting on me and wouldn’t take no for an answer and in rode Sir Nathan Scott on his white charger and pretended you were my guy.”

“Again.”

She looks at him, a question in her eyes.

“I was your guy … _again_. That’s why we could pull it off ... we knew how to be together. It was easy.”

“Nate ... having your arm around me for a couple of hours at a college party is one thing. But fooling Lucas? As much as I’d like to shut down his superior snarky comments to me and as much as I’d _really_ like to serve him one for what he did to you, it’d take more than your arm around my shoulder and a peck on the cheek.”

“True. _If_ he was dense enough to hover around for a bit, it’d definitely take more than a kiss on the cheek to … shit!” he curses as he looks up. “He’s already on the pier.”

“Nate …”

“Yeah I know ... don’t get into a fight.”

“No,” she says slyly. “You reckon I’d make a good hippy?”

“What the ...?”  
She realises she’s still holding his hand, drops it and holds up two fingers in a 70s-style peace sign.

“If he’s only gonna hover around for a few days … Whaddaya reckon?” she says with a very cheeky grin. “Make love not war?”

He laughs, turns her fingers around so that they form the universal ‘go to hell’ sign.

“And screw Lucas Eugene in the process?”

“Hell yeah! How close is he?”

“Close enough to recognize me. He’s waving to try and get my attention but by the looks of it he hasn’t realized I know he’s there.” He looks directly at her. “Plan?”

“Right. If we run into him in town, we just play act like an ‘out in public happy family’ type affection.”

“Easy. And right now?”

She quirks her shapely eyebrow at him.

“On the plane, when I told you why I left Tree Hill, I left out one thing,” she tells him straightforwardly. “That day he got back from his honeymoon, when he came to my studio, he basically told me we could never be over and kissed me when I wasn’t looking.”

“Fucker.”

“Indeed. So, I reckon right now it’s time for you to get down off that white charger, Sir Nathan, and pucker up baby!”

He laughs and sits and pulls his chair in close to hers.

“You sure about this, Sawyer?” he asks, double checking, as his dark blue eyes search hers.

“Oh wow,” she laughs. “The great Nathan Scott, former ladies’ man, is actually second guessing the opportunity to lock lips with a girl?”

“Not just any girl, Sawyer,” he says with a look that’s a little more intense than she expected. “A girl with _spectacular red hair_. And not _former_ ladies’ man, either. I’ve still got it.”

“So you say hotshot … proof of the pudding’s in the …”

Her words are cut off by his lips. His hands have somehow found their way to rest on the tops of her bare thighs, his fingertips just touching the fraying cuffs on her old denim shorts. She finds herself thinking it must be an awkward angle for him. Then she thinks it must be 15 years, or maybe it’s 16, or hell 17, since she was kissed by Nathan Scott. Well ... not that long since the friendly kiss on the temple, kiss on the forehead ‘thanks for being my buddy’ type of kiss from before she left Tree Hill. But this is a _Nathan Scott kiss_. And his lips are perfect. And even when it’s a relatively chaste, not a lot of heat in it, soft, gentle kiss, it’s doing things to her that it just shouldn’t be doing. Her hands feel useless though, like she’s that gawky teenager again, being kissed by Nathan Scott for the very first time, and she just doesn’t know where to put them.

He pulls back just a whisper and exhales against her mouth, then murmurs right by her ear.

“Stop overthinking, Peyt,” comes his voice, low and warm. “Just go with it.”

She thinks that might be almost exactly what he said back then too, during that very first kiss. And suddenly her fingers find their own way into his hair and her mouth finds its own way back to his and the gods of kissing have turned on the heat. She’s unaware of the quick footsteps on the wooden stairs around the side of the beach house, still unnoticing as they come around the corner then halt, standing awkwardly some distance behind her chair while the owner of the feet digests the scene in front of him.

Lucas sees he was right. It _is_ his younger brother, as he thought. But Nathan’s completely engrossed in a heated kiss with a slender woman. All the Scott with the dirty blond hair can see is her back, or at least her square shoulders, either side of a long, long curtain of stunning gold and red hair that flows over a white racer back tank top, and her slim arms, the fingers at the end of which are threaded into Nathan’s dark hair.

She’s oblivious to pretty much everything, except the strong fingers that are just, _just_ under the cuffs of her shorts, creating ovals of heat on her skin. And his lips. God those lips. And somehow her mouth has opened to his and it feels incredible when his tongue darts to hers. Is that _her_ hands applying just enough pressure to the back of his head that he pushes forward, losing the slight very un-Nathan Scott tentativeness that was there and really taking control? As incredible as her skin feels under his fingertips, he can’t resist moving one large hand. He gathers her hair up into a rope between his thumb and index finger, twisting it around his hand and cupping the back of her head, pulling her in even closer. He moans softly into the softness of her lips and plunders them further. He can feel something starting to rise in her and thinks she’s about to pull back, but instead he feels a silent giggle and a low, not quite silent hum pass from her to him. He doesn’t pull back but breaks the seal of their hungry mouths just a fraction so he can draw in a breath. Big mistake, because with it comes the scent of her shampoo, her sun kissed skin, and a tinge of pears. And that drives him forward again, almost crushing her lips with a hunger he hasn’t felt in ... well, forever. It must be the pears.

He slowly becomes aware of his brother’s awkward cough, designed to interrupt. Excruciatingly slowly, Nathan withdraws from the kiss. Her eyes are closed, and he loves the fact that her breath is fast. As is his. He reluctantly unwinds his hand from her hair, which falls back around her shoulders. Nathan draws his hand through his own hair as her hands drop down to his knees. With his other hand, he applies a gently pressure to her thigh to let her know he’s got this covered. He looks over her shoulder at his older brother, who looks both a little awkward and what? Curious? Bashful?

“Lucas. Any particular reason for your visit?” he asks with a deliberately bored, vaguely impatient expression. He’s good.

“Nathan. How are you?”

“Not so interested in small talk. Otherwise engaged.” He’s _very_ good.

“I can see that,” the elder Scott replies coolly.

“You make a point of creeping around being a peeping Tom? What do you want, Lucas?”

“I just ... I’m just here for a few days.”

“And?”

He can feel her hands rubbing small, slow circles on the denim of his jeans. It’s hypnotic and makes it hard to concentrate, so he places his own hands on top of hers to still them.

“Look, I get that you’re not interested in talking to me, but I just had one question.”

Nathan raises his eyebrow in question and waits.

“I went to the cemetery today.”

“I’m sure Keith would be pleased to see his nephew. Maybe not proud of who you’ve become,” Nathan says as an aside, “but pleased to see you. What’s your question? Do I pay the bill to make sure the custodian takes care of the grave? Yes. And I go myself, though I’ll admit it’s not as often as I should.”

“No. I just ... there was a flower on the headstone that must have come from a bunch on Anna Sawyer’s grave. I wondered if Peyton was in town. I thought you might know.”

Nathan leans forward and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the point of Peyton’s shoulder as he considers the question.

“I do know,” he concedes.

Lucas rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Nathan. C’mon. Don’t be obtuse.”

Nathan smirks at his brother.

“Aww ... but I’m enjoying it so much, big brother!”

“Is she in town or not?” Lucas asks exasperatedly.

“She is.”

Lucas gestures with his hand for more info, but Nathan plays dumb.

“Fine. Don’t tell me,” Lucas complains. “There’s not that many hotels in town. I can track her down, I’m sure.”

Nathan glances quickly at Peyton. Silent question asked. And answered by her with a knowing smile and wink. Nathan’s going to work this just for the satisfaction of it.

“You won’t find her in a hotel,” he concedes with a small shrug and a sideways nod.

“You seem pretty sure of that.”

“I am.”

“Jesus, Nathan!” Lucas exclaims. “You clearly know where she is.”

“I do,” the brunette replies calmly. “But she won’t be interested in whatever you’re peddling.”

“What? A catch up with an old friend.”

“Oh, I think you and I both know you could never think of Sawyer as just an old_ friend_. You’ll always want more, _way_ more, from her, and who could blame you? She was hot as hell then. And trust me, she’s hotter now. But she’s moved on. She’s getting her ‘more’ from someone else and unlike you, she doesn’t screw around on the side. Oh … and, in case you were wondering, I’m pretty sure _she_ never cries out _your_ name while she’s in bed with _him_.”

Peyton stifles a gasp and blinks rapidly to regain control over her threatening giggles.

“Alright. I get it. You’re being an asshole to ...”

“_I’m_ the asshole?” Nathan asks in mock offence, raising his palm innocently to his own chest for a moment. “You know, Keith screwed his brother’s wife too. But I really do believe he made a genuine mistake in a moment of weakness, and he knew it, and was repentant. You? It’s like you thought you were ... _entitled_ ... or something else totally screwed up.”

It’s weird, he thinks. He’s thought this stuff for years but never said it, never had _the rant_. Is it because Peyton’s there? Listening? Supporting? Or is it that he feels like he’s fighting for both of them?

“Are you _ever_ going to get past it? Are we ever going to …?”

“I ‘_got past it_’ years ago, Luke. I’m better off without an unfaithful wife. And Hales is a good Mom, when she’s being a Mom, not a rock star. But you and me? Highly unlikely. I just don’t like the guy you turned into. I never even heard an apology from you. I wonder if Lindsey did? I mean ... that’s just plain bad manners!”

“We’re brothers, Nate,” Lucas argues. “If an apology is what it’ll take …”

“Now that sounded _so_ sincere. Look, I just don’t need that ... _or you_ ... in my life. I’ve got work I love. I’ve got a kid I love. I live on the beach. I’ve got a good girl, a _great _girl, in my life.”

“And you’re lecturing me about bad manners, little brother?” he retorts snidely. “You’ve got a girl you haven’t introduced, who you’re clearly trying to keep under wraps? Or maybe this one _here_ isn’t the _good_ girl in your life? Maybe you’ve reverted to your past ways too?”

Nathan leans forward again, placing another of those kisses on her shoulder. She can feel him smiling against her warm skin. God he’s enjoying this. And she is too. But maybe she’s enjoying the feel of his lips, and the tip of his tongue, on her shoulder even more.

“You’re suggesting I’d have more than one on the go? No. That’s your MO.”

He turns to Peyton, smiling blissfully.

“Want to say hi, babe? My big brother seems to be suggesting you might be just a side dish instead of the main course.”

He moves his hands to behind his head and leans back in his seat, with his elbows out and up. She knows that posture of old. He’s sitting back waiting for the hammer to drop.

“And there I was thinking I was dessert,” she quips.

She winks, and slides one hand suggestively up his thigh, grinning at his sharp intake of breath. He stops it with his own hand. When she finally turns to look at Lucas, the blonde’s eyes are on her hand as it sits high on his brother’s thigh, rather than on her face. And of course, there’s still that unfamiliar mish mash of accents of hers. He hasn’t got a clue.

“Hey Lucas, long time no see,” she says, tipping her head slightly.

His head comes up sharply, and his mouth goldfishes open and closed several times.

“You!” he eventually chokes out.

“I should hope so. I’d hate to be someone else.”

“You … when did you …”

“Visit the cemetery? Earlier today. I hope you don’t mind about the flower for Keith.”

“No ... I meant ... when did you two …”

Peyton gestures between Nathan and herself, quirking an eyebrow at Lucas in question. He nods once. She turns and grins at Nathan.

“Pretty recently, but we’re … um … making up for lost time.”

“How ... how long are you here for?”

She leans into Nathan, turning her face up to him in an unspoken invitation. He obliges with a quick touch of his lips to hers.

“How long am I here for, Nate?”

“Well you agreed to the summer, but I’m thinking long distance after that would be kind of …”

“Sucky?”

“As eloquently put as ever.”

“Yeah. Long distance … and _me_ … and a _Scott_?” she teases lightly. “Not such a great mix. Guess you’ll have to find ways to make me stay put then.”

He chuckles near her ear and dammit, presses another one of those hot kisses on to her already flushed skin, this time under her ear, where her pulse is, she’s sure, visibly beating. He grins dangerously and she almost fears what’s going to come out of his mouth next.

“I think you can count on me finding many ways to make you … _come_ ... around to my way of thinking and stay,” he intones.

Just then, the infrequent cry of Annie pierces the air. Peyton is on her feet swiftly.

“You want me to go?” he asks, his hand on her forearm.

“Aww. You’re too sweet for words,” she says, resting her hand on top of his for a fleeting second, an intimate gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by their ‘guest’. “No, I’ll go. She’s probably just a bit hot. I think I forgot to put the fan on. Shall I grab you another beer while I’m there?”

“Mm. Sounds good. Thanks, babe.”

She wanders in, reappearing a few minutes later with a flushed Annie in her arms and a couple of opened beers, which she places in front of Nathan, leaving him to make the decision as to whether one is offered to Lucas. Nathan must be enjoying the discomfort of his older half sibling, as he passes the second bottle to him without a word.

“She okay?” the brunette asks Peyton.

“Yeah. Just a bit warm. I’ve put the fan on. I’ll cool her down a little out here then she’ll go back to sleep no trouble.”

The question is all over Lucas’ face, but he doesn’t ask. And neither Nathan nor Peyton are inclined to let him off the hook. Annie spots Nathan as Peyton sits down and holds her chubby little cherub’s arms out towards him.

“You want Nate, Annie?”

“Smart kid,” Nathan smirks, “she already has great taste in men.”

He holds out his hands and Annie leans forward, jiggling with excitement. Peyton passes her over, with a gentle warning.

“Don’t get her too excited,” she cautions. “I want her back in bed as soon as she’s cooled down a bit.”

He flashes his dark blue eyes at her and raises an eyebrow.

“Which Sawyer girl are you talking about, exactly?”

She laughs at him. He always was way too witty when it came to innuendo.

“Don’t listen to pervy Nate, Annie,” she coos. “We don’t like pervy Nate, do we?”

“That is _so_ not what you were saying last night, Sawyer,” he says drolly.

She shakes her head. “You’ll keep,” she mock threatens.

“You can bank on that, babe.”

Annie is patting Nathan’s face with her little hands and he’s making goo-goo eyes at her. To be honest, Peyton’s practically forgotten Lucas is even there as she watches her daughter and … friend? host? pseudo boyfriend? fake lover? what? … interact. It’s a great little mutual appreciation society that is a joy to witness. It’s hard to believe that Annie has known Nathan only a week.

“She’s cute,” Lucas comments after a bit.

He sounds … disconcerted. Hesitant.

“Yeah. Too cute. She’s gonna be a heartbreaker, this one,” Peyton laughs.

“Just like her Mommy,” Nathan flirts.

“Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll for sure hang around after summer,” she retorts with a fond tone.

“She’s yours? Peyton?”

“Of course, Lucas. You thought I’d snatched a baby?” she laughs again.

“I ... don’t know. You could have been babysitting,” he adds lamely. Hopefully.

“For someone in Tree Hill, when I haven’t back been for years? Who do I know here? Well ... other than my favourite Scott.”

That one with a wink at Nathan. Ooh. Low. Lucas visibly winces.

“You sound different,” he comments.

“Years overseas will do that to you,” she says drily.

“I didn’t mean accent. Though … what is that? British?”

She nods once, reaching out to clap hands with her daughter. “London.”

“I was there too,” he says, with a tamped down note of disbelief.

“So, I heard.”

“You never looked me up,” he semi accuses.

“I didn’t hear until just recently, well after I’d left.”  
“Oh. Well, that’s okay then.”  
“Why?” she says assertively, turning to look him in the eye. “You actually think I’d have knocked on your door if I had known you were there?”

“Well … wouldn’t you have?”

“I had to leave my hometown because of you, Lucas,” she says plainly. “Why would I seek you out in another town and let you ruin that for me too?”

“You _had_ to leave!?” he scoffs. “You _ran_, more like.”  
She can feel Nathan bristle and tense. And she’s suddenly really, really glad that he asked her why she’d left Tree Hill all those years ago, and even more glad that she told him. She gets the feeling that Lucas is banking on her not having told anyone, and that she, like her old self, would run away again before she stood up for herself fought.

“Hmmm,” she muses aloud, perfectly under control. “The very day you return from your honeymoon … oh yes, that’s right, Lucas … you were _married_! The _very day_ you get back, you come to my place of business, which in itself was breaking your promise to me, and you pester me and you kiss me and when I push you away, you threaten me.”

“I did _not_ threaten you!” he denies vehemently, even self-righteously.

“You virtually told me that being my landlord meant I couldn’t stop you coming back in to pester me. What’s that if not a threat?”

“Well … others might see it all differently.”

“I doubt that very much but maybe I should’ve told everyone instead of leaving, then we’d have known, wouldn’t we? _Maybe_ I should’ve told Lindsey. _That_ might have been fun.”  
“Fun?” he asks incredulously.

“You know, I used to wonder what you thought would happen if I’d stayed? What did you intend by coming to my office and kissing me, Lucas? Did you plan on setting me up as your bit on the side? I mean … what _exactly_ was going through your head when you did that?”

“I was thinking that … that we weren’t …”

“Over? Oh, but we were. _So_ over. We were _long_ over by then. We’d been over for years.”

“I’d only been engaged a few months,” he counters as if that was the only determining factor. As if it was up to him when it was off and on, over and not over. And yes, maybe at the time that is what is was like. But not now.

She stands, holding her hands out to Nathan for her daughter, then looking at Lucas coolly.

“Yeah. You’d been engaged a few months. But you and I had been over for years by then, because the Lucas Scott, the _you_ that I knew? He hadn’t existed in years.”

“Whose fault was that?” he scoffs snidely.  
She smiles knowingly and shakes her head. “Yours,” she says firmly. “All I did was ask for a bit of time. The rush, the insecurity, the abandonment, then the coldness and cruelty and … and all round general assiness? That was all _you_, Lucas.”

“It’s not just the slight British accent that makes you sound different,” he says shaking his head. “You’ve become a cold bitch.”

“Oh no,” she replies calmly. “I could _always _be a cold bitch. Just like you could always be so indecisive that you messed with the heads and hearts of everyone around you. All I did was stop you messing with mine any longer.”

“Indecision?” he scoffs. “That why you’re not with your child’s father?”

She laughs at him, which makes him look really confused, but she can see Nathan’s eyebrow shoot up and his mouth open slightly in surprise. She’d predicted Lucas would have to make such a comment. And Lucas has just proven her right.

“Yeah, Lucas,” she says with a wry chuckle. “I’m not with Annie’s father and _that’s _why; indecision. You’re really quite predictable, you know that? C’mon Annie. Back to bed for you, now that you’ve cooled down a smidgen.”

As she turns her back on the blond Scott to disappear inside, she turns and holds up Annie’s hand.

“Wave to Nate, Annie.”

He waves back as Annie wriggles her fingers and crinkles her eyes. Peyton, as she turns back, spots Lucas running his eyes up her legs in an appraising manner that makes her cringe. Yes, he always loved her legs, but the look he has now is nothing short of predatory. Cold and assessing and predatory. And possessive. She feels anger rip through her when she recognizes that look but she keeps walking. She’s in earshot just long enough to hear the next question Lucas directs at Nathan, and Nate’s answer.

“Did I get that wrong then? Is she yours? The baby?”

Nathan laughs. He’s more than a little impressed that Sawyer had so accurately picked Luke would have to make some sort of snarky comment about her having a kid without an obvious father in the picture.

“No,” he concedes. “I wish though. Gorgeous kid. She’s amazing. And Sawyer’s awesome with her.” He pauses then grins before he continues. “Guess I’ll just have to make sure the next one’s mine.”

Peyton nearly trips. Oh boy. He really is laying it on a bit thick now.

When Annie is resettled and Peyton heads back outside, there’s no sign of Lucas and his beer bottle is empty on the table. Nathan is sitting on the deck railing, leaning against the end pole, one leg grounded and the other bent.

“He’s gone?” she asks, clearly relieved.

“Bathroom,” he corrects her. “Asked if he could change; he’s going swimming. Probably just wants to flaunt his bod in front of you. Make you go all weak at the knees.”

“Yeah right,” she scoffs. “That’ll make me go weak at the knees, I don’t think. But you … The _next_ kid? Seriously!?”

She punches his arm lightly. He rubs it with a mock wounded look on his face and laughs.

“Nice touch, huh?”

She rolls her eyes at his confident cheek.

“Speaking of nice touch … how much higher up my thigh was that hand going to go?” he counters, eyebrow raised.

“Yours was higher on mine!” Peyton protests indignantly.

“Not the same,” he says, shaking his head for emphasis.

“No? Why’s that?”

“Girls have the advantage of being able to hide their … never mind! So … want to send him off with another lasting image in his rattled head?”

“You just want my hand on your thigh again,” she says with a devilish grin.

“Bitch.”

“You betcha. You always brought out the bitch in me, Scott.”

“That’s not all I brought out in you, Sawyer,” he chuckles. “Told you I’ve still got it.”

“What!?”  
“You were so into that kiss. I know I said to go with it, but ... “

“Shut up! I wasn’t the one _moaning,_ Scott!”

They stop, staring, then laugh again.

“Alright. So … good kiss,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Let’s just agree that we can still pull it off.”

Peyton raises an eyebrow at him. _Pull it off?_ Too easy. She doesn’t say it though. She doesn’t need to.

“Oh, shut up!” he chuckles. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“What!?” she protests again, her hand spread over her chest in mock innocence. “Didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t have to. Though pulling it off? As I recall those hands of yours did do good work in that regard.”

“Host or not, I’m going to slap you in a minute,” she threatens in an attempt to cover up that she’s blushing furiously.

“Bit of rough, huh?” he teases, making that blush deepen. “And after that … are you gonna straddle me in that chair or am I gonna pin you up against that wall?”

“I … what?” She could feel the heat rising further on her cheeks. Dammit. Blushing? This badly? Seriously? She might as well be back in high school, fifteen, with the star basketball player threatening to French kiss her in front of the whole cheerleading squad. Well … same players, different game, it seems.

“A nice little send off for our guest? Who will be back any minute …” he explains.

As if on cue, she hears the telltale sound of a flush from inside. She steps across the deck and into the gap between Nathan’s legs.

“Any _second_ by the sounds of it,” she corrects. “No time for staging this one, studly. Just make it look good.”

Maybe it was that predatory, possessive look she caught from Lucas driving her on, maybe it’s her responding to Nathan’s cockiness and trying to prove a point to him, or maybe it’s just that Nathan _does_ still have it; whatever the reason, there’s no need for a ’just go with it’ this time; this kiss goes from 0 to 100 instantly.

Her hands are on his shoulders, around his neck, in his hair before their lips even touch. His dangling foot hooks around the back of her knee and brings her in close. In response, she drives her tongue into his mouth, really not caring if he chooses to torment her about her enthusiasm later. He tastes amazing, just a hint of that beer on his tongue. She can barely breathe but just can’t bring herself to break away. When he does, she gasps. Then gasps again, as his lips trail down the side of her neck, then up, pausing at that throbbing pulse point to tease it with the tip of his tongue. She can feel his bare heel pressing into the back of her knee and, just as she thinks her leg will give out, he’s standing up off the rail, his hands are sliding from just grazing her hips around to fully hold her ass, hauling her hips against his. And his mouth is back on hers. It’s even more intense; pushing, probing, teasing, sucking. How it’s possible for him to be a better kisser than he was, is completely beyond her. If he’d been _this_ good back _then_ (and he was plenty good back then), she doubts she could _ever_ have walked away. It’s just too addictive … and that might just be a problem.

Just as she’s thinking she really should make an effort to stop this, the other Scott’s voice comes snarkily from behind.

“You know if you were teenagers, I’d be telling you to get a room.”

Nathan pulls back, in a controlled, seemingly reluctant move, and blinks lazily at her. He shuffles her back a little, entwines his fingers with hers and starts inside, pulling her with him.

“Actually, that’s by far the most appealing thing you’ve said since you arrived,” he throws back over his shoulder. “Nice one, Luke. Have a great swim. See ya’ round, I guess. Maybe.”

He continues to pull Peyton after him, gets to the stairs and, feeling Lucas’ gaze still on them, starts pushing her up ahead of him, his hands strategically placed … back on her ass.

At the top of the stairs, now out of sight of the deck, she steps to the side, leaning against the wall. He leans against the opposite one. They’re both still breathing heavily.

“I think that probably looked good enough,” he says rather smugly.

“Nate … don’t.”

“Sorry.”

She just nods.

“Or maybe not sorry?” he adds, tipping his head to the side.

“What …”

“C’mon. Tell me that was just me thinking that was awesome and I’ll call you a liar.”

“I’m not saying that was just you.”

“You’re an insanely good kisser,” he says with a smirk.

“I learnt from the best, remember?” she quips instantly. He always used to say that. About kissing. And … other things. Back when they were kids. When he was so much more experience than her, and teased her that it was his mission to get her caught up.

_Your tutor must be good, Peyt, ‘cos you can seriously kiss these days. _

_You are one quick study girl. That was some technique you got going on. _

_Babe, I must be the best sex ed teacher ever, ‘cos damn, that was fucking amazing._

He can’t help but grin at her subtle reference to their past. A grin she returns.

“So, the thing about being the good friends we were,” he says with a carefully moderated tone, “before you skipped off to Papa Sawyer and Mother England I mean, is that we can be upfront. Right?”

“I guess,” she agrees cautiously.

“And if one of us were to say something, suggest something … and it wasn’t what the other expected ... it wouldn’t matter, right? We’d be okay anyway?”

“Depends. It’s not like we’re bestest best buddies right now. It’s only been a week since our _opportunistic_ airport meeting. Where are you going with this?”

“I just think there’s a lot of … heat there.”

“Okay.”

“You want to walk around ignoring that heat? Just tapping into it if Lucas is within spitting distance and putting on a …?”

“And the other option is?”  
“To not ignore it.”

She raises her hands in ‘what does that mean?’ gesture.

“We’re adults,” he states. “_Single_ adults. _Consenting_ single adults that apparently do crazy things to each other’s heart rate when they kiss, let alone do anything else. Could be a long, hot summer, Sawyer,” he suggests with a sexily raised eyebrow. “Really hot.”

“Hey! I have a baby in that room,” she says, pointing at the nearby doorway.

“I’ve never heard of a kid remembering the summer before they turned one,” he counters with a smug smile.

“_You_ have a teenaged boy.”

“Who’s not back for three, maybe four weeks. And who’ll want to spend most of his time out with his mates once he’s back.”

“This is getting more and more like that schmaltzy rom com movie,” she argues, though he notices she’s doing her level best to suppress a smile.

“I’m not hearing a no.”

“I … I don’t think it’s a good idea, Nathan,” she eventually says after taking a deep breath. “Friends with benefits at our age, with our past? That’s asking for trouble.”

“You sure?”

“No, not one little bit,” she admits with a wry grin. “But that kind of deal is how I got Annie. And as much as I love her and wouldn’t go back for the world, I’m sticking with ‘not a good idea’. And _you_,” she said, taking a step toward him and jabbing him in the chest with her finger, “said it wouldn’t matter … so it better not!”

“We’re fine,” he assures her right away. “It’s a damn shame to waste all that intensity, but … I get it. So … just putting on a show if we see my brother in the next couple of days, before he leaves?”

She nods. He pushes off the wall and starts heading to his room, pulling his T-shirt over his head as he goes.

“What are you …?”

“Quick shower before I grill those steaks,” he throws back over his shoulder.

“Oh. Okay.”

Damn his back is nice.

He turns and grins at her, a devilish glint in his eye, as if he can see her thinking about his body, continuing to walk backwards.

“A _cold_ shower,” he teases. “Then maybe … I’ll call my big bro; and ask him over for dinner tomorrow. Or should I say dinner and a show?”

“You wouldn’t!” she exclaims.

“Nah.” he agrees as he goes through the doorway into his room, then pops his head back out and grins. “Had you going though.”

He catches her looking at him oddly after dinner, while they’re just sitting on the deck enjoying the air and the view.

“What?” he eventually asks, when she says nothing, but keeps looking at him, looking down, looking at him, looking down.

“Nothing,” she mutters.

“Sawyer,” he laughs, “that is not a nothing look. What’s up?” He pauses, raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Change your mind about it not being a good idea?”  
“No!”

“Ah well, worth a try,” he quips. “So, what is it then?”

“You …”  
“I?”  
“How did you find out about the underground stuff?”  
“What underground stuff?” he asks, playing dumb.

“You talked about it. You said you Googled me. But …”  
“But?”  
“There’s no link between …”  
“Between Peyton Sawyer and Sake?” he finishes for her.

“Yeah.”  
“Except for the starring role I played in the very first Sake strip,” he points out, not necessarily proudly.

“What? Starring … oh …” she trails off again, her memory having been well and truly jogged.

“Uh-huh,” he says with a nod, pulling his mouth into a line that shows his distaste at the memory. “What was it? Sex with faceless jock? With a cap on, no less?”

“Nathan …”  
“No,” he interrupts, extending a conciliatory hand towards her, “don’t even think about apologising. It’s only ‘cos I was the ass who left the cap on that I knew it was you that drew that strip. And … well, I guess Lucas knew ‘cos he sent your work in. But … I was an ass. That was … poor form.”  
She nods her appreciation.  
“Well, will you at least let me apologise for being bitchy enough that I’d turn your _poor form_ into a paycheck but never actually have the nerve to front up and tell you that you shouldn’t leave your cap on?” 

“Yeah,” he grins, “I’ll let you apologise for that.”  
“I wasn’t a great … communicator,” she smiles wryly.

“Nah,” he shrugs, “you just let other parts of you do the talking.”  
“Jerk!”

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist. Look … maybe you weren’t such a good talker. But … I was a pretty shitty listener. I only ever heard what I wanted to so …”

“Just as well we grew up, huh?”

“Good,” he says.  
“Huh?”  
“We grew up _good_. Both of us.”

“We did, didn’t we?” she smiles widely.


	6. Brooke Has Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Brooke,” Peyton soothes, laying a calming hand on her friend’s. “Think of it as your own personal Lucas Scott lightbulb moment that sparks a change. I had one of them too, and I never looked back from it, not once I made the decision to let it all go. Really let it all go.”

She’s really beginning to think that Nathan likes her daughter more than her. He’s amazing with Annie; she can barely feed her or change her, or do anything for her or with her, without a 6’ 2” brunette looking over her shoulder asking if she wants a hand.

This afternoon, Brooke had spent a couple of hours at the beach house, sitting outside, sipping on a beer, just the one, because Peyton refused to give her a second, and when Brooke said it would be awesome if they could head out, just the two of them, for a girls’ night out, Nathan had been all over the idea; insisting they should go, asking Peyton when she last had a night out, saying he was perfectly happy to stay in and babysit. When she’d admitted that she hadn’t actually had a night out since Annie was born, he was on his feet, shoving her towards the stairs, telling her to get her shit together and go and make herself look hot enough for the men of Tree Hill. She’d rolled her eyes and started to protest, but when Brooke joined the fray and dragged her upstairs, already talking about giving her ‘smoky cat eyes’, she knew she’d lost the battle.

There’d been a moment, as Brooke was sweeping a tinted moisturizer over Peyton’s cheekbones – _Just a bit to even out your skin tone, P., before I do those eye_ – when the brunette had stopped and with her fingertips under Peyton’s chin, tilted her subject’s face up towards the light.

“Peyton?” she’d asked gently, turning Peyton’s face back towards her. “Why is there the last remnants of a bruise on your nose? And under your eye?”

“What?” she’d asked, all innocence.

“Don’t even think about conning me,” Brooke had warned.

“Like I ever could,” she’d scoffed.

“Someone hit you?”

“Brooke … it’s … not an issue, OK?”

“You don’t want to talk to me,” Brooke had said knowingly. Sadly.

“It’s not that,” Peyton had assured her. “It’s just … done. I made a mistake. I thought he was a good guy. He made a mistake. And it’s not that I think he’s a _bad guy_, exactly, but … I’m not taking the chance. Not with Annie. It’s done and dusted. And I’m here. With my friend Brooke, the party girl. Getting ready for a night out. So … let’s just …”

“Just like that?” Brooke had asked as she worked on Peyton’s eyes. “Just … make the decision and leave it behind you and that’s that?”

“Yep.”

“Hmmm.”

Now that they’re into their evening, and without Nathan’s ears close by, Brooke has actually started to admit that she’s over being the party girl, that she wants something more but doesn’t know how to get it. That she doesn’t know how to change the way she lives ‘cos she’s been doing it so long.

“Brooke, honey,” Peyton says with a gentle smile and kind, knowing eyes. “Go with the clichés; baby steps and one day at a time. You just start saying no to the bad stuff and yes to the good stuff.”

“It’s that easy?”

“I think it is,” Peyton assures her. “Like … I walked away from … well … you know,” she says gesturing towards her own nose and eye. “You just decide to do it differently, to make a change, and you do it one decision at a time. And,” she continues with another encouraging smile and a hand on Brooke’s forearm, “when you hit an obstacle and think you’re going to make a wrong call, you come to your best friend and she whips your ass until you’re ready to make the right call.”

“I’ll … think about it … while I get us another drink each,” Brooke says, her voice laden with doubt, and she shoots off to the bar. She returns with a Scott in tow. The wrong Scott.

“P. Sawyer. This summer’s turning into a right old Tree Hill High reunion!” the brunette exclaims. “Look who I found skulking about at the bar!”

“Well ... skulking would be right,” Peyton replies drily.

“Peyton,” he drawls. “Charming as ever.”

“Right back at you, Lucas.”

“You two!” Brooke gushes with a laugh, as if they’re four-year olds fighting in the sand pit. “Come on now. Play nice. We’re all grownups here.”

A couple of fairly uncomfortable hours roll by, and thankfully for Peyton, for the last half hour or so, Brooke and Lucas have been dancing. She’s just had to shoot down a couple of over eager high school boys but that’s much more pleasant than dealing with Lucas Scott. Now though, a couple of ballads have slowed down the pace on the dance floor, and the old high school flames are all up against each other. Brooke’s got her arms wrapped around his neck, his hands are all over her, groping and stroking and he’s placing dramatic, somewhat obvious kisses up Brooke’s neck. And all the while, while his dance partner is absolutely oblivious, he’s looking at Peyton over Brooke’s shoulder, one eyebrow quirked, his trademark squint in place, even winking with that damned squinty eye at one point.

Eventually they go to leave, and are standing near the cab rank, waiting for the next vehicle to pull in. Brooke is leaning all over Lucas, somewhat the worse for wear, and he’s whispering away in her ear. When a cab finally pulls in, Peyton swings into action.

“Alright, Brookie Monster,” she intones with fake cheer. “Let’s get you home to bed. I think you’d better come with me to Nate’s so I can look after your hangover in the morning.”

“Hey P?”

“Brooke?”

“You go on. I think I’ll go with Luke.”

The blond Scott is watching Peyton, and when Brooke turns into him and starts kissing his neck, he throws another sly wink Peyton’s way.

“Brooke, you cannot be serious!” Peyton exclaims. “Do you not remember the conversation we had earlier tonight? You know ... _making a change_?”

“Maybe I’ll make that my New Year’s resolution … next year,” she giggles drunkenly. “Or the year after.”

“Brooke don’t do this,” Peyton pleads.

“Wassa matter besty?” Brooke asks with suspicion, turning from Lucas’ neck to look Peyton in the eye.

“I’m just looking out for you,” Peyton says plaintively, her hands reaching out towards Brooke.

“Brooke, I think she’s jealous,” Lucas inserts with a sly grin.

“You jealous P. Sawyer?”

“Of what?” she asks, rolling her eyes dismissively.  
“Well you know … he always was kind of good in the … sex department,” Brooke replies with a flirty wink, rubbing her palm lasciviously over his abs and across his trousers to his thigh. “_After_ I trained him up, of course …”

Luke raises his eyebrow at Peyton. Brooke’s still oblivious to the way he’s working this, and Peyton honestly thinks she might hurl in the street. Both of them, actually. Brooke from the alcohol, and herself from the revolting scene before her.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to your friend, Brooke,” she says, shaking her head sadly.

“What? You going all high school on me, P?”

“No! But c’mon ... after what he did!? He’s an immoral, cheating_ jerk_.”

“Bygones, P. Sawyer,” Brooke drawls dismissively. “That was all years ago.”

“Let’s put Peyton in this cab, Brooke,” Lucas inserts. “_She’s_ clearly not in a party mood. We’ll take the next one.”

“Brooke, I really wish you’d come with me,” Peyton tries again.

“But I want to _come _with Luke, P.”

“You know what Brooke?” Peyton fires back with a wrinkled nose. “I thought you were ready to start growing up a bit. Don’t come crying to me when this turns to crap, alright?”

Lucas opens the door for Peyton and as she gets in, shaking her head in disappointment, he leans into her.

“You sure you don’t want to join us? To _come _with us, Peyt?” he asks with a suggestive leer and chuckle.

“Brooke, me, then Haley?” she scoffs in his face. “It’s not enough that you’ve screwed your way through all three of us, now you want to start doubling up? _Nice_, Lucas. You’re a real class act these days, huh?”

“Coming from the single Mom shacked up with my brother?” he fires back bitterly. But she’s up to the task of putting him in his place.

“_Karen_ was a single Mom, you _ass_,” she spits back. “If she could see you now, I’m sure she’d be_ so_ proud. And by the way, your brother’s worth ten of you.”

She pushes him backwards, watches him stumble a little, then closes the cab door and gives directions to the driver. As the cab pulls away, she isn’t even remotely tempted to look back.  
  


The next morning, Peyton and Nathan are sitting at the kitchen counter eating piles of toast with peanut butter (him) and either marmalade or honey (her), while she relays the events of the night before. He’s not exactly calling her an _exaggerator_, but she’s not convinced he really believes her take on the situation.

“Nate, seriously … he’s on the dance floor, with his hands all over her ass, sucking all over her neck and perving and winking at me _over her shoulder_. I mean, who does that?”

Nathan can’t answer before there’s a loud knock at the door, which opens immediately, and a stroppy looking, more than slightly worse for wear, Brooke barges in, stilettoes in hand.

“So, what the hell was that last night, Peyton?” she accuses as she marches across the room, her finger pointing directly at the blonde to add emphasis.

“Well, hello to you too, Brooke. And how are you this fine morning?”

“Pissed.”

“Still?” Peyton asks with raised eyebrow. “You were pretty trolleyed, but I didn’t think you quaffed enough to still be drunk the morning after.”

“Pissed _angry_ not pissed _drunk_,” Brooke yells. “What was all that judgy, judgy jealous crap you pulled last night?”

“Brooke, trust me,” Peyton replies with an indulgent smile, “I am not jealous of your little _dalliance_ with Lucas Scott.”

“Well, it sure sounded like it,” the brunette pouts.

“Brooke, I don’t give a flying fu … I don’t_ care _who you or Lucas sleep with alright?”

“Oh, trust me, Peyton,” she bitches back, “there was _very_ little sleeping going on!”

“Awesome,” she replies drily. “Good for you. Now … can you go?”

“I was so excited about being back in touch with you P.,” Brooke sighs dramatically. “I actually missed you these last eight … nine years!”

“Well, me too, Brooke, but ...”

“But you’re gonna let Lucas and I get between you and me again?”

“Right. So, there’s a Lucas and you? After one night?” Peyton asks doubtfully before answering the question. “And, no, Brooke, I’m not. _You’re_ gonna let Lucas get between us again.”

“Seriously? If I’m with Luke, you won’t be my friend? How high school is that?”

“Brooke,” she says calmly, “might I remind you that back in high school ... that was _your_ rule book and _your_ decision, not mine. And look, I’m sorry, but I will not have that man in my life after what he did.”

“It was _years _ago, Peyton!” Brooke almost shouts. “Can’t you let it go?”

“I could, but I won’t. He behaved appallingly, completely immorally.”

“He was dumb! He made a mistake!” Brooke protests. “Don’t we all?”

“Yeah. And you made a _monster_ one last night.”

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“I prefer to think of it as taking a moral stand.”

“Over one stupid kiss years ago?”

“A _kiss_? Is that what he told you?”

Brooke looks lost momentarily before she resumes her argument.

“That’s what _you_ told me,” she bites back. “Before you left town.”

It’s Peyton’s turn to look puzzled, and she literally scratches her head in confusion.

“Brooke ... what …?”

Nathan looks between the two and intervenes by holding up his hands, one palm towards each of them.

“Um … I think you two are talking at cross purposes,” he observes. “Luckily, my mediation skills are at your service. Brooke,” he says, turning to the shorter of the two women and taking a studiously neutral tone but with a wry smile, “please_ briefly_ summarise your take on this little spat?”

“She’s pissed off ‘cos I went home with Luke last night,” she states, crossing her arms over her chest. “She thinks I shouldn’t get involved with him again because of how she felt she had to leave town after he kissed her when he got back from his honeymoon.”

“You think I still give two hoots about _that_?” Peyton laughs. “God! That was _years_ ago.”

“And that’s exactly what I said last night and again just before … but you went on about him being an immoral, cheating jerk. And that I was doing something bad to a _friend_.”

“Yeah,” Peyton says looking at Nathan, “because of …”

Nathan stops her swiftly by placing his hand over her mouth.

“Sawyer,” he warns. “Davis doesn’t know.”

“What?” she gulps as he removes his palm.

“I don’t know what?” Brooke questions, hands on hips, looking between the two.

“Oh shit!” Peyton exclaims in horror at her slip. “Nathan. I’m so sorry. I just assumed …”

“She was in New York when it happened,” he explains, just to her, ignoring Brooke’s tapping foot, “for several weeks. By the time she came back, the paperwork was all done and none of us were exactly talking about why.”

Brooke looks from Nathan to Peyton, looking thoroughly confused but aware that something is going on that is much, much bigger than what she thought.

“Will someone tell me what the hell is going on here?” she demands.

Peyton looks apologetically at Nathan. She isn’t going to say a word. It’s his story and up to him whether he tells it. She mouths another ‘I’m sorry’ at him. He shrugs and turns to Brooke.

“Davis, Sawyer’s not all up and arms over some dumb, misplaced kiss years ago. She’s not that petty and she never was. She’s taking the moral high ground on my behalf.”

“But why? What did Luke ever do to you?”

“Well, not a lot I guess,” he says drily, “oh … apart from fuck my wife.”

Brooke’s hand is quickly over her mouth while she turns smartly and bolts across the house to the bathroom.

“Umm,” he looks at Peyton. “What’s ...?”

“I know that look,” she explains both hurriedly and resignedly. “She’s going to throw up. Best I go and hold her _delightfully bedhead_ hair back.”

Fifteen minutes later and Brooke is seated at the kitchen counter, a cool glass of water in front of her and with Peyton rubbing slow circles on her back.

“Oh, my God,” she moans. “I’m _such_ an idiot.”

“‘Fraid so, B. Davis”

“You tried to tell me,” she sighs.

“I did.”

“I’m _such_ an idiot,” she repeats woefully.

“So I’ve heard.”

“I think I need help, P. Sawyer,” she says, casting sad eyes at Peyton.

“I think you need to … swear off boys for a while.”

“Sex detox?”

“Good idea. Sex detox.”

“Impossible in New York. Too many beautiful specimens. Too many gorgeous models at my Clothes for Bros shoots.”

“Stay in town for the rest of summer then.”

“I … I can’t. I’ve already stayed longer than I … well … actually … I _could_. I guess.”

“You should. Hang out with us. Get to know Annie some more.”

Brooke ponders that quietly for a long while, then, when Nathan appears in the kitchen and starts to make coffee, she speaks again.

“Natey?”

“Yeah Brookie?” he replies, picking up on use of his grade school nickname and serving it back.

“Why didn’t you tell me? The reason for the divorce?”

He shrugs.

“Haley needed a friend, I guess,” he admits. “And let’s face it, she’d kind of blown it with Lindsey. I thought she’d need you.”

“She never gave me even the tiniest hint,” Brooke says in disbelief. “In all the heart to hearts we had, not a peep. I thought it was just the time apart, growing apart thing. I really froze you out for a while.”

“I know. But I knew we’d be good eventually, Brooke. We go too far back not to be.”

“Was it just a … Haley and Lucas … just a oncer?” Brooke asks, clearly fearful of the answer.

“Brooke,” he sighs. But she keeps looking at him expectantly and he’s not going to lie now. “You think I’d have divorced her over a one-time mistake? I did love her, then. I could have forgiven that. I think.”

“So … not a one-time thing?”

“I didn’t dig too deep,” he admits, “but from what I did find out … six months or so. Basically, that whole basketball season. Initially, they’d leave school separately at lunchtime and rendezvous in my marital bed. They were bold enough to go in one car after a while.”

“God. _Lucas_!? I always thought he was so … _good_. About Haley anyway. I am _such _an idiot. I fucking slept with him last night!”

“Brooke,” Peyton soothes, laying a calming hand on her friend’s. “Think of it as your own personal Lucas Scott lightbulb moment that sparks a change. I had one of them too, and I never looked back from it, not once I made the decision to let it all go. _Really_ let it all go.”

Brooke looks up with tears in her eyes.

“I really don’t feel so good,” she moans. “And it’s not just the hangover. I’m a shitty person. A shitty, _slutty_ person.”

Peyton stands and takes Brooke’s hand.

“C’mon, besty. We’re putting you to bed for the afternoon. Let me look after you.”


	7. A Double Scott Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So … lesser of two evils?” he asks quickly. “Dan or Lucas?”  
“What?”  
“Quick,” he prompts with a gentle squeeze of her arm to compel her.  
“Um ... I wouldn’t have thought I’d ever say this but after your brother’s exploits, your father is probably the lesser evil. Why?”  
“‘Cos I just spotted Dan to the left and Luke to the right,” he informs her. “Guess we’re going left. Put your ‘oh how lovely to see you again, Dan’ face on, girl.”

**NEXT DAY**

Returning from an early morning run along the beach, during which he pushed himself much harder than he had been of late, Nathan finds Peyton in the kitchen, spooning stewed pears into Annie’s enthusiastic mouth while nibbling on toast herself. She’s still in pajamas, and her hair’s in a slippy-slidy, messy bun that looks like it’ll tumble down any second.

“Hey,” she says, “you look beat.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, wiping a towel over his glistening face. “Pushed really hard.”

“How come?”

“Anger, I think.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Lucas?”

He nods as he drains his water bottle and goes to refill it from the kitchen faucet.

“Yeah. Me too. So, anger’s still motivation, huh?” she says, alluding back to that conversation during an oddball school assignment many years ago. “It pushes you to work like a madman, and I think it’s pushing me to go and do some serious credit card damage.”

“Shock, horror. You’re actually going to leave the house during daylight hours and go somewhere where there’ll be people?” he teases. “I thought maybe you’d developed some weird agoraphobic problem.”

She shakes her head. “I was just waiting ‘til that damn bruise on my face had gone, Nate.”

“Shit. Sorry. I didn’t even think about that. I guess I stopped seeing it.”

She smiles. “It’s fine. Actually, it’s more than fine. I’m glad you stopped seeing it. Guess my sparkling personality just outshone it huh? I need to get supplies for work, and it’s too hot for jeans and I’m really sick of wearing this same pair of shorts.”

His eyes flick down over her shorts, then move slowly down over her long legs and up again.

“Oh yeah,” he says drily, “those shorts are just_ terrible_.”

She hits his bicep playfully. “Shut up! Anyway, I need stuff. For me and for Annie. And I should probably rent a car.”

He considers that. “Why don’t we both go? I could do with some new gear and having a girl’s opinion would be good. You can drive this time, and as long as you prove your driving isn’t as lethal as it used to be, you can just have my other car while you’re here.”

At the mall, they get Peyton’s work supplies from an art store that she says is way better stocked than anything that was around when she last lived here. And she drags him into a midrange clothing store and has him hold Annie while she buzzes about and, in the space of a mere quarter hour, grabs a few Tees, a long sleeve linen shirt, some longer shorts (he pouts at that, making her detour around a rack to thump his arm), and a purple bikini, which she deliberates over then adds to her armful with a shrug. He expects her to head to a change room, but she merely piles her choices on the counter and pays before marching out of the store.

They’re wandering past a new, rather upmarket menswear store that Nathan indicates is the one he thought they could try, when she turns to him.

“So, I’ve never been shopping for clothes for you,” she says with a surprised edge to her voice. “What’s your tolerance limit for trying on clothes?”

“I dunno. An hour?”

“Alrighty. We need to work fast, buster.”

She gets the attention of a well-dressed assistant who’s about Nathan’s size, and rather … camp, as the Brits would say. She checks his discreetly engraved name badge then takes his arm and speaks as if taking him into her confidence.

“We need your help, Brent! This specimen is going to stand in the changing room for one hour and try on everything we throw at him, at which point his tolerance will time out. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to help me get him an entire new smart casual wardrobe in that time. You up for this?”

“Darling, a big chunk of my income is commission based. I am _so_ up for this.”

“Oh, my God what _have_ I let myself in for?” Nathan wonders aloud.

“Chop, chop,” she orders, clapping her hands and pushing him, both of them laughing, towards the changing rooms. “Let’s go, buddy. Get in that end changing room and strip so you’re ready for the first wave. Brent and I are starting with jeans and pants. Shirts to follow.”

Forty minutes later and Peyton is just shaking her head ruefully.

“My God, Nathan. You are a total clothes horse. You make _everything_ look good!”

He’s uncharacteristically coy at her praise as he takes in his current ensemble in the full-length mirror. “I think maybe_ they’re_ making _me_ look good? You have amazing taste, Sawyer.”

Another half hour and, while he hasn’t actually hit the wall yet, ‘cos Peyton and their new best buddy Brent are making this more fun than he thought clothes shopping could ever be, they wrap it up because they both really need a coffee, and Annie needs to be fed.

They head to a small café that’s tucked away, where Nathan says Peyton should be able to find a quiet spot to feed Annie, and on the way, they pass a lingerie store. He cocks his head towards it, a suggestive smile pulling up the corner of his mouth.

“How ‘bout after our coffee we spend more than an hour in _there_? This time_ I’ll_ choose and _you_ can model.”

“Good to see your sense of humour’s still intact, Scott.”

“Who said I was joking?”

“Me. And I strongly suggest you drop this and don’t get between me and that coffee. Seeing as though I’m hallelujah! back in the land of caffeinated coffee, I need to get this little tiger fed pronto before I have the java.”

Later, as they’re leaving the café, he hauls her back and speaks urgently near her ear.

“So … lesser of two evils?” he asks quickly. “Dan or Lucas?”

“What?”

“Quick,” he prompts with a gentle squeeze of her arm to compel her.

“Um ... I wouldn’t have thought I’d ever say this but after your brother’s exploits, your father is probably the lesser evil. Why?”

“‘Cos I just spotted Dan to the left and Luke to the right,” he informs her. “Guess we’re going left. Put your ‘oh how lovely to see you again, Dan’ face on, girl.”

Dan spots Nathan at that point and makes a beeline for him, striding quickly as if he’s afraid Nathan will turn and escape. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened.

“Nathan! Nice to see you, son. And who’s this little beauty queen? Does Jamie have a little sister that you neglected to tell me about?”

Dan is taken with Annie, tickling her feet and cooing at her, his cynical face relaxing into something like adoration for a moment.

“Dan! Seriously?” Nathan protests, though it doesn’t escape him that Brooke asked exactly the same question. “This is Anna, Peyton’s daughter.”

Dan looks at Peyton properly for the first time and, upon making the connection, addresses her, with his eyebrow raised and a cynical sneer playing about his mouth.

“Well, well ... last time I saw you I think you were still wearing a cheerleading skirt, and you still had those blonde curls.” He not very subtly checks out her left hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you Miss Sawyer. It is still _Miss_ Sawyer, by the looks of it?”

“Dan. It’s been a long time.”

She speaks coolly and carefully avoids answering his question, which he smirks at.

“So, she’s _not_ yours then, Nathan? That’s a shame. She’s certainly good looking enough to be a Scott.”

He looks from Anna to Peyton and neither Nathan nor Peyton are really sure whether Dan is talking about Anna, or whether he’s referring to Peyton now. Either way, it’s all just a bit ... icky.

“So, what are you doing back in Tree Hill, Peyton?” Scott Senior asks. “I heard you sold your label a few years ago. Have you moved back? Any more exciting business ventures planned or are you all … domestic bliss and Mumsy these days?”

“I work from home for the main part,” she says modestly, providing no extra information. “And I’m just here for the summer.”

Dan raises his eyebrows skeptically and Nathan somehow can’t stand watching his father dismiss Peyton in this way. He finds himself wrapping his arm around her shoulder protectively.

“Peyton’s an artist and illustrator,” he elaborates with very discernible pride.

“Dabbling about with paint?” Dan says snidely. “Nice work if you can get it, I suppose.”

“And you wonder why I don’t make much effort to see you,” Nathan bites. “We need to go. But before you write off a serious and profitable career in the arts as _dabbling_, maybe you should go home and Google Peyton. You might just be surprised.”

Nathan turns and guides Peyton away. He’s had enough of shopping anyway, despite the success of the mission. And he wants to get the hell out of the mall before they manage to run into his brother as well.

“You’re taking that whole knight in shining armour thing a bit seriously, Nate. I _can_ stand up for _myself_, you know. And I really don’t care what your father thinks of me.”

“I know. He just … gets under my skin with that superior attitude of his. He’s got nothing to be superior about. He’s a convicted murderer for God’s sake, and he was shitty husband and a shitty father and a …”  
“Alright, breathe, Scott,” she laughs, resting her hand on his arm for a second. “Let’s just head back to the beach house before we have any further _Close Encounters of the Scott Kind_.”

They head to the car, but as they’re closing in on it, the brother that they were both keen to avoid cuts across the carpark and, as they turn around from loading their many bags into the back of the Range Rover, he appears in front of them.

“Lucas, I swear ... I’m not in the mood,” Nathan warns.

“Just as well it’s not you I want to speak to, then.”

“Funny,” Peyton responds, “but my mood seems to be aligned with Nathan’s.”

“You know. It’s pretty damn rich, you calling me names the other night, Peyton,” he insists.

“I didn’t call you anything undeserved, Lucas.”

“Coming from the woman who is screwing around on her fiancé?” he asks with a tone suggesting he thinks he’s got her beat. “What’s his name? Greg?”

“What the hell!?” she exclaims, immediately wishing she had more control. “Where have you been snooping around?”

“Fairly accessible information when you’re engaged to someone who features in the society pages as often as he does,” he answers with a victorious tone.

“So, you what? _Googled_ me for your school project?” she mocks.

“Something like that.”

“That’s kind of pathetic. And, by the way, _Mr Published Author_, you should know not to trust half of what you see online.”

“So, you’re not just a shameless floozy then?” he baits her. “Baby with one guy, engaged to another, a _society_ gent no less, come back home to screw around with the well-off ex pro-baller with the beachfront prop ...”

Nathan steps in front of Peyton, grabbing Lucas’ arm. His older brother tries to wrestle his arm away, but Nathan’s not having a bar of it.

“Peyton,” he says firmly. “Take Annie around the other side of the car and get both of you buckled in.”

“It’s …”

“_Now_, Peyton.”

She remembers that tone of voice. And she’s not gonna argue with him. As soon as the girls are out of his line of sight, Nathans spins Lucas and slams him up against the back of the Range Rover.

“Shut the hell up!” he spits into his brother’s face.

“Big _man_, Nate,” Lucas drawls. “Defending your fuck buddy?”

“You haven’t got the first fucking clue what you’re on about.”

“She’s _engaged_!” Lucas scoffs.

“One. None of your business. Two. If you think it _is _your business, you’re wrong. Three. Before you even_ think_ about making a case for it being your business, get your facts straight. She _was_ engaged. She’s not engaged anymore.”

“I … I ...”

“Yeah. You … you … It’s all about _you_, isn’t it, Lucas? Only it’s not. Quite frankly, it’s about her and her daughter. I’ve already told you, _she _doesn’t fuck around, and she never has. I’m telling you now: what’s going on with her and me is between her and me. Keep your nose out of it. More to the point, she’s a _very_ smart woman and doesn’t suffer assholes the way she used to. And I include _you_ in that not so select group. She’s made it very clear to you that she wants you to keep out of her orbit. So, keep. Out. Of. Her. Orbit. Do _not_ come to my house. Do _not _approach her. Do _not_ do anything that could be construed as trying to contact her in any way, shape or form. And stay the _hell _away from Brooke while you’re at it.”

Nathan shoves his brother sideways.

“And I’d recommend that you move your ass ‘cos I’m reversing out of this carpark any second and I’m not inclined to check to see if you’re out of the way.”


	8. More Scotts Are back In Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s kind of surprised, and very flattered, when Nathan Scott’s boy falls asleep on her. And glad that she’s left her phone on silent, because Nathan calls about half an hour later.  
“Hi,” she says quietly, gently moving Jamie’s head from her lap and onto a cushion, then shuffling along the couch a bit, leaning forward to fiddle nervously with the drawer handle on the coffee table in front of her.  
“You’re whispering?”  
“Jamie’s asleep on the couch, just here.”  
“He okay?”  
“Bit of a rough night, but he’ll get there. Nathan … this kid … your kid; he’s incredible.”  
“Like father, like son?” he jokes. “Yeah … he kind of is amazing.”  
“It’s all down to you, you know.”  
"Well, he has a Mom too,” he points out. “She did a lot … the first eight or nine years, anyway.”  
“I know. I do. But it’s you now, and for the last few years. I just …”  
“What?”  
“I keep thinking that if Dan had been half the Dad you are, your life would’ve been so much easier. And Lucas’ too.”  
“What might have been, huh?”

Nathan takes a call from Jamie one night and, after a few minutes, gets off the phone, looking pleased as punch. Haley’s been offered a last-minute spot on a big tour. Jamie could go with her, of course, but the kid’s adamant he’d rather come back to Tree Hill. He’ll be back the next day, a full three weeks ahead of schedule.

He goes to the airport the next day to collect his son, and his bubble is more than a little deflated when he sees his ex-wife waiting with Jamie at the baggage carousel. She explains that she has a few days before the tour starts, that she thought she would stay in Tree Hill for a few days and catch up. Nathan asks her, conversationally, where she’s staying and realizes, as she awkwardly stutters and stammers, that she had expected to say at his place. She never has before, so he struggles to think why she’d think that now. He says, quite firmly, that he has a full house, with guests for the summer, and, to ensure she really takes the point, he offers to drop her at a hotel.

She accepts begrudgingly and, as she’s leaving the car, she says they should catch up while she’s in town. He informs her, pleasantly enough, that he’s simply too busy with his guests. 

When he pulls the Range Rover up in front of the beach house a few minutes later, Jamie tells his father that he should have been honest with his mother, and not fabricated guests. Nathan laughs and says he has no need to _fabricate _anything; they_ do_ have guests. An old friend and her daughter that he bumped into at the airport after he’d left Jamie in LA are staying with them for the rest of the summer.

Jamie, his father’s son after all, asks if she’s cute. Nathan laughingly asks who he means, and Jamie, with a junior version of his father’s smirk, says the daughter, _of course_. When his father informs him that the daughter is _very _cute, Jamie’s opening the car door in flash. Nathan tries to stop him, but his phone buzzes; it’s his Mom, and he knows he has to get this but thinks he’ll suggest he call her back. Jamie glances at Nathan’s phone, his instant grin reflecting that he knows his Dad will be a while and scoots.

“Hey, Mom. Can I … never mind,” he sighs as he realizes Jamie’s already inside the house anyway. “What’s up? How’s Coop?”

They chat for a while, Deb giving her son the latest on the Cooper situation, until eventually he says he really needs to get inside and make sure Jamie’s alright with his house guests.

“House guests?” Deb asks. “Who?”

“Actually, Mom … can I fill you in on that later?”

“Of course, honey. I’m intrigued though.”

“That’s because you’re an insane gossip,” he teases her.

“That would indicate there’s something to gossip about?” Deb retorts quickly.  
“Later, Mom.”

As Jamie races into the house, he finds their house guest in the kitchen making coffee. When he sees her, he slides to an abrupt stop.

“Hi! Nice slide,” she enthuses.

“Hi,” he responds. “I’m Jamie.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re … wow … you’ll hate me for saying this,” she grins unapologetically, “but you’re way taller than last time I saw you. You must be almost as tall as your Dad.”

“No,” Jamie replies. “But my Nana says I’m taller than he was at my age so, I guess that’s a good sign. How old was I when you last saw me?”

“Um. It’s been about eight, no … nine years so I think,” she says, doing a quick calculation, “so … about five? I think you had just started school, but not long before.”

Jamie considers her, his brain clearly ticking over.

“I feel like I should …” and he stops as realization creeps up on him. “Ohmigod! You’re Aunt Peyton!”

“Oh geeze,” she laughs. “You’re fourteen, right? Just Peyton, please. It’s not like I’ve been around to earn the title of Aunt.”

He’s still young enough to be impressed by the opportunity to call an adult by their first name, and grins widely.

“Peyton,” he nods. “Cool. You look … didn’t you used to have ...?”

“Blonde hair? Yeah. It kinda darkened up while I was pregnant and hasn’t gone back.”

“Oh yeah. Dad said our guest has a cute daughter,” the young Scott comments with a slightly bashful shrug.

“So, _that’s_ why you were in such a rush to get in here!” she laughs. “Boy, you aren’t your father’s son _at all!”_

The teen blushes profusely, making Peyton laugh yet again.

“She’s a little young for you, dude,” she explains. “You wanna meet her though?”

“Sure.”

Peyton leads the way to the deck, where Annie is right by the doorway, lying on her back in the cooling breeze, playing with the baby gym that Nathan dug out of the attic.

“Oh wow, I recognize that from photos,” Jamie admits. “It’s my old baby gym.”

“You don’t mind?”

“I think I can probably fill my time with other things,” he says as drily as a fourteen-year-old can, making Peyton laugh at his adult sense of humour.

“Man, you are such a Scott!” she says, making him grin.

“I kinda hear that a lot,” he agrees. “So, what’s her name?”

“Anna. Well, Annie usually. It was my Mom’s name.”

“Hey Annie,” Jamie says to her daughter, crouching down. Annie turns at the sound of her name and beams at Jamie.

“Wow,” he says. “Dad was right. She _is_ cute.”

“Thanks. Mind you, you probably don’t have many babies around to compare her to.”

“There’s a few,” he replies with a nod. “A couple of my friends have got much younger siblings. So … my Dad said you’re staying here for the summer?” he asks, angling his head to look up at her for a moment before turning back to Annie and letting her grip his fingers.

“Yeah. Are you okay with that? I know you’re back way early. You probably weren’t expecting a lameass oldie and a squawky baby around.”

“She doesn’t seem too squawky.”

He makes the comment casually, but his eyes are laughing at her and _she_ knows that, as a gentle tease, he deliberately hasn’t denied the ‘lameass oldie’ label she gave herself.

“Hmm,” she says with her hands on her hips and a mock frown, “you’ll keep, Jamie Scott.”

“You’re not a lameass oldie,” he says hurriedly, belatedly, faking fear.

“Oh no! Too late now! Damage is done! Watch your back, kid.”

They’re both laughing when Nathan comes into the living room and drops Jamie’s bag on the couch.

“Jamie! What did your last slave die of? Next time bring your own bag in.”

“Sorry, Dad. I forgot.”

“So, did you introduce yourself?”

“I did,” his son confirms. “But Peyton remembers me anyway.”

Nathan raises his eyebrows at that. “Shouldn’t that be …?”

“No!” Peyton interjects. “No _Aunt_, please, Nathan. Jamie was very polite. But I really can’t do Aunt Peyton. You okay with that?”

“I guess,” he agrees reluctantly. “As long as …”  
“He doesn’t call me a lameass oldie again?” she asks with a sideways glance at the teenager.

“What the hell, Jamie?” Nathan asks sternly.

His son looks gob smacked while Peyton doubles over cackling.

“Told you to watch your back, kid,” she gasps out. She grabs him around the neck and gives him a hug.

“It’s all good, Nate,” she explains, “Private joke. Your son’s done you proud so far, I promise.”

“Geeze, Sawyer. Ten minutes alone with my boy and you’ve got private jokes going already?”

“What can you do, Dad?” Jamie shrugs. “It’s that Scott charm.”

Nathan rolls his eyes and tells the boy … young man … to go get rid of his bag, which he does without argument. When Jamie returns, he flops on the couch and immediately asks his father how Nana Deb is, and Coop. Nathan positively beams in response.

“She’s good,” he nods. “And they just got good news. Really good news. They’ve scheduled surgery.” Jamie leaps back up and flies across the room to hug his Dad, giving Peyton her first insight into how close the two of them are.

“That’s awesome! When?”

“Day after tomorrow, probably. Or the day after that. Just depends on when the surgeons get in.”

He realizes Peyton is looking completely lost, having no idea what they’re talking about.

“Sawyer,” he begins, “sorry. You … you’re not in the loop on Cooper.”

“What’s up?” she asks, concerned. “I mean … how can surgery be _good_ news?”

The two guys flop back onto the couch, with Nathan gesturing for her to join them. She pulls Annie and the baby gym inside, grabs her coffee and the one she’s poured for Nathan, and passes it to him.

“Still hot enough?” she ventures. He smirks, raising an eyebrow at her and glancing down at her legs.

“Your _coffee_!” she protests, glancing sideways at Jamie, who merely rolls his eyes at the banter.

“Yup. It’s good. Thanks.”

“So … Coop?” she prompts.

“Was in a bad car wreck about six months ago.”

“That’s terrible!”

“Nope. It was good.”  
“What?” she asks, baffled.  
“They did full MRIs right after it to check him out and found a brain tumour that would otherwise, probably, not have been picked up until too late. It’s in a tricky spot.”

“Oh God, that’s … wow…”

“So, they’ve been doing all sorts of stuff for the last six months to shrink it away from some … I dunno … crucial brain parts. No one would try surgical removal unless it was just a little smaller on one side, but nothing was working.”

“Until now!” adds Jamie.

“Until now,” Nathan agrees, rubbing his hand over Jamie’s hair. “So, some super-duper brother and sister team from Seattle is flying into Charlotte to do the surgery. Jamie,” he says, turning to look at his son seriously, “it’s still risky. _Really_ risky. But it’s the only option. Just …”

“I know, Dad,” Jamie sighs. “We still need to be prepared.”

“Coop’s in Charlotte?” Peyton asks.

“Yeah, with Kelsey and the kids. Mom’s been down there for the last few months helping out.”  
“Coop’s married with kids? Really? Your uncle, the confirmed bachelor?”

“Well, not married,” Nathan concedes. “But three kids. He and Kelsey just didn’t want to do the marriage thing.”

“So,” Peyton says, looking thoughtful for a moment, “that means you have cousins?”

“Yeah. My cousins are younger than my son. Weird, huh?”

“And Coop’s Jamie’s _great_ uncle,” she extrapolates with a gleam in her eye. “Bet you’ve had fun with_ that_ over the years.”

He grins. “Oh yeah. Lots.”

“Hot _Great _Uncle Cooper doesn’t have _quite_ the same ring to it,” Peyton muses, laughing as Nathan rolls his eyes at her.

“So,” Nathan says with a thoughtful look towards his son, “this great news presents a bit of a technical hitch, Jamie.”

“How come?”

“Nana Deb and Kelsey really need another pair of hands for two or three days, to help out with the kids so they can be at the hospital.”

“But you’ll go, Dad,” Jamie responds with a nonchalant shrug, as if it’s blindingly obvious.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Nathan agrees. “But I wanted to run it past you. You literally just got back. And I’m not keen on you going too. It’ll be pretty intense.”

“It’s okay. I’ll stay here,” Jamie says, shrugging again. “It’s only a few days and I’m still getting way more time with you over summer than the original plan.”

“I thought you’d go stay with a friend,” Nathan suggests. “Maybe Kevin? Or even at the hotel with your Mom?”

“I hate hotels,” Jamie pouts grumpily, the first sign of his age that Peyton has seen.

“I know buddy, but …”  
“You’re sending him back to LA when he’s just got home?” Peyton asks gently.

“No. Haley’s not in LA,” Nathan explains. “She was at the airport when I picked up Jamie. I had no idea she was coming, but she’s at a hotel in town for a few days then off to Houston to join a tour.”

“Can’t I just stay here, Dad?” the younger Scott pleads.

“Jamie, I don’t think that’s …”

“I don’t mind,” Peyton steps in, resting her fingertips on Nathan’s forearm for just a moment. “I mean … just … not to interfere, but if you think I’ll mind, Nathan, I really won’t. It’ll be fun getting to know Jamie again.”

Nathan rubs his hand over his head, thinking about this.

“Dad, please?” Jamie asks plaintively, turning his eyes on his father. “I _just_ got back. The beach looks awesome. Peyton’s cool. Annie’s cool. Kevin’s Mom’s okay but his Dad’s kind of a tool.”

“Jamie!”

“He is,” Jamie says firmly. “You know I’m right.”

Nathan shakes his head but can’t stop the tiny smile that lets Peyton know that Kevin’s Dad is, indeed, _kind of a tool_.

“_If _we discuss house rules that work for Peyton _and_ you sign up to them, Jamie,” Nathan concedes after he looks questioningly at Peyton and she nods her confirmation.

His son nods firmly.

“They’ll be stricter than when I’m here. You get that, right?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“And no charming your way out of them when I’m gone!”

“Dad!” Jamie protests. “I promise. Best behaviour.”

“Alright. You wanna go and call Nana Deb for me?” Nathan asks. “Let her know I’ll text her with flight details later today, and that I’ll definitely see her tomorrow. Probably in the afternoon, though I’ll try for earlier. You haven’t seen her for ages, Jamie, so stay on and have a chat. She misses you.”

“Okay.” He heads off, pulling his phone out of his jeans pocket as he goes.

“You okay?” Peyton asks Nathan, leaning forward to place her hand on his knee.

“Yeah. It’s weird. I’m relieved and worried at the same time,” he says, shaking his head a little. “About Coop, I mean. I hate to drop this on you, Sawyer.”

“Hey! I meant it,” she says with a reassuring smile. “It’ll be fun. You know … Nathan, he’s an _awesome_ kid. You should be proud. Really proud.”

“Yeah. He is. And I am. So … how do you want to work this?”  
“House rules?” she asks, waiting for his confirming nod. “Why don’t you let me scribble down what I think, and we can run over it at dinner?” she suggests. “You go pack for tomorrow, and I’ll sort out some food for dinner.”

“You’re amazing.”

“So true,” she scoffs offhandedly at him as she stands and heads toward the kitchen.

She calls the guys to dinner later, as she’s grating a pile of fresh parmesan on to on her simple but tasty Bolognese sauce.

“Yes! Spag bol!” exclaims Jamie as he slides into the table.

“Almost,” she laughs. “It’s penne ‘cos I thought Annie could handle short bits of pasta. I hate to think the mess she’d make with spaghetti.”

“Same taste. Awesome. Smells great, Peyton,” he enthuses.

“Guess you never outgrow spag bol, huh?”

“Nope,” Nathan adds as he takes a seat. “I can verify that. Still love it at the ripe old age of 32. It does smell good. I still can’t believe you actually produce edible food, Sawyer. You used to cook with a credit card.”

She waves the serving spoon at him. “The joys of travel, Scott! This is a proper authentic Italian Bolognese sauce; I’ll have you know. So … flight sorted?”

“Early tomorrow morning,” he confirms. “Away two nights. Back really late on the third day.”

“Peyton?” Jamie asks, digging into his bowl with gusto. “Did you come up with house rules?”

“Well, I did, yeah. But I want your Dad to okay them too, ‘cos I just re-met you like a couple of hours ago, and I don’t know your routine. So … rule number one, and I’m very serious about this one James Lucas Scott.”

“Okay. Hit me,” he sighs dramatically.

“No drinking, smoking, drugs or girls in your room,” she says after a lengthy pause for dramatic effect.

She keeps a perfectly straight face and Jamie looks absolutely horrified.

“What sort of guy do you think I am?” he asks, all teenaged outrage. “I’m_ fourteen_!”

Nathan and Peyton glance at each other, and he laughs at how offended his son sounds.

“I think she might be having you on, son.”

“Oh … well … okay, then.”

“Well yes … and no,” she agrees, leaning into Jamie conspiratorially. “Don’t forget I knew your Dad at fourteen, Jamie. I kind of had to assume the worst.”

“And right about now I’m thinking I’ll cancel those flights,” Nathan drawls drily. “And kick out my house guest.”

Jamie, however, is delighted to see someone give as good as they get with his Dad.

“Okay. Real rules,” says Peyton. “One. You eat dinner with me, so I know you’re properly fed and watered at least once a day. Two. Usual bedtime or whatever; Nathan to advise?” She looks at Nathan, who gives her the detail she needs and says it’s a bit relaxed anyway over summer.

“Three. I’m okay if you have a mate over, but just one at a time so I can manage transport if anything happens. And I’m happy to drop you at a friend’s house and collect you as long as it fits in with Annie sleeping. But I’d prefer it if you didn’t just go wandering around. I need to know where you are, just while your Dad’s away.”

Jamie looks at Nathan on that. It’s a bit tougher than usual; he’s generally allowed to wander about town with his friends, but Nathan just says Peyton must be comfortable while he’s away and it’s only a couple of days, so Jamie nods his understanding and acceptance.

“Four,” Peyton continues. “While I was cooking dinner, I got a short deadline job in and I have to get it done over the next couple of days. I’ll need to be up late to make the deadline, so it’d be cool if you could keep noise down until I’m up in the morning. Oh … and if you could not touch the stuff on the work desk. I have a system with drafts and stuff and it’s a major hassle if they get out of order.”

Jamie waits for more, looking at her expectantly.

“What?” she asks.

“That’s it?”

“Um … yeah.”

“Really?”

“Well I already know you’re a good, helpful, respectful kid, Jamie. I don’t think I need to micro-manage you. I’m sure you’ll ask me if you’re not sure on anything and I know I’ll have to ask you stuff.”

“Okay. I can help with Annie, right?”

“Okay, you and I are gonna get on just fine, mister!” she laughs.

A couple of hours later, Jamie’s in his room and Annie’s in bed. Peyton’s kicking back on the deck, drafting some thoughts for her job on a sketch pad, when Nathan appears and hands her a coffee.

“Thanks. I was just thinking about making one.”

“I think you’ve done enough for tonight.” When she looks at him oddly, he explains further. “Dinner and getting Jamie sorted for the next few days.”

“It’s nothing, Nathan.”

“It’s not nothing,” he insists. “This is a huge help, Peyton.”

She leans forward and grasps his knee for a moment.

“Hey. You’ve put a roof over my head for the summer. Truly, this is the least I can do. Like I said, it’ll be really cool to get to know Jamie again. So … you worried?”

He nods. Of course, he’s worried.

“You’ll keep in touch, yeah?” she asks. “Whenever you need to talk? It’ll be hard being the support for them if you can’t blow off steam yourself.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replies. If she didn’t know him so well (despite the long absence), she’d read it as dismissive. But it’s not.

“Listen to me,” she insists. “Don’t be a martyr. Remember that conversation from Senior year? Don’t carry the whole world on those shoulders of yours, okay? I’ll be up late working anyway. Tomorrow night for sure and the one after almost definitely. You won’t wake me up if you call. But, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll put my phone on silent, so I only see it if I’m awake anyway. And if I miss it, I’ll call you back as soon as I see it.”

“How do you do that?” he asks in genuine amazement. “Know what I’m …”

“You weren’t wrong at the airport,” she smiles at him.

He looks puzzled.

“When you said that you hadn’t changed much,” she explains.

“Oh great. So, I’m a prime example of arrested development,” he chuckles. “And here you are all grown and matured and woman of the world-ish.”

“I like that description,” she grins. “Think I’ll add it to my business card. Peyton Sawyer. Illustrator. Grown and matured and woman of the world-ish. But,” she adds, raising her eyebrows at him, “you’re forgetting that I also said _you’d_ done all your growing and changing before I left.”

She takes a sip of coffee. “I just meant that I can see what you’re thinking ‘cos it’s usually about putting the other people around you first. You’re actually pretty great, Nathan Scott.”

“High praise, Peyton Sawyer,” he says with a tilt of his head in acknowledgement. “And right back at ya.”

The next morning, up with an early alarm, showered, dressed and heading downstairs, he’s thinking he probably doesn’t have time to make coffee, when he realises that Peyton is in the kitchen, wrapped in a short robe.

“You do realise it’s 5am?” he says with a chuckle.

“Hey! Yeah. I … um … got some inspiration for that job so I got up to sketch it out.”

He eyeballs her for a few seconds. “Liar,” he declares.

“What?”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire. Or they would be if you were wearing any,” he says, eyeing her legs. “Why are you really up?”

She rolls her eyes at him, then places a couple of plastic containers on the counter in front of him.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“I figured you’d leave without eating. It’s just a couple of sandwiches and a couple of cookies left over from yesterday. Oh …” she turns and grabs the coffee press. “And coffee. Have you got a travel mug?”

He shakes his head, unaccustomed to someone looking after him, and opens a cupboard to pull out the battered travel mug he’s taken to early morning practices for years.

“Up and cheerful at 5am?” he teases. “I’m really beginning to think you’re not actually Sawyer at all. You just look like her, talk like her, read me like her …”

“You figured it out,” she nods calmly as she pours the coffee carefully into the mug. “I’m really the alien imposter version.”

“Well, I like this version,” he chuckles with a sparkle in his dark blue eyes. “Maybe even more than the real one. I might keep you on, Alien Sawyer.”

She punches his arm and he laughs.

“Yup. There she is,” he says, rubbing the spot she punched in mock pain. “The real one packs a mean punch.”

“I told you, Nate; it’s hard work being the rock for everyone else. You need to look after yourself and for you, right now, that means food and coffee.”

“Well, thank you,” he says warmly. “I appreciate it.”

“You need to hit the road,” she says, ushering him towards the front door. “And I need to go back to bed.”

“I’d rather go with you,” he flirts shamelessly.

“Funny!”

“Not joking,” he flashes back instantly, but his voice is full of laughter and his eyes are sparkling.

“Go on! Get out of here. Call me with updates. Give my love to Deb. And,” she adds suggestively, “especially to Hot Great Uncle Cooper.”

“Now who’s funny?”

“Also not joking!” she retorts. “Now go … and don’t worry about Jamie. We’ll be fine.”

He does as he’s told, calling her early evening while she and Jamie, and Annie in her highchair, are sitting at the dinner table, but there’s nothing to tell, really. She puts him on speaker phone so Jamie can hear the news too; the surgeons have been held up in Seattle and Nathan, Kelsey, Deb and the kids are just in limbo waiting. Cooper, the one that _should_ be most anxious, is sleeping like a baby.

Annie rat-a-tat-tats her sippy cup on the highchair table when she hears Nathan’s voice, cooing and bah-ing in excitement. But when she can’t see the person to match the voice, her little face grows confused and she looks about the room anxiously.

She frowns at Peyton then bursts into upset tears.

“What’s that?” Nathan asks. “Is that Annie?”  
“Yeah.”  
“I … I don’t think I’ve heard her cry,” he muses. “What’s up?”

“I think she misses you,” Peyton tells him, moving to pull Annie up into her arms to sooth her.

“What? Don’t be …”  
“I’m serious,” Peyton tells him as she kisses Annie’s cheek. “She got all excited when she heard your voice and then all bothered when she couldn’t see you.”

“I … really?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Scott,” she chuckles. “I think I’d better get her in the bath and ready for bed. She’s tired.”  
“Her and me both,” he says.

“Call me later if anything else happens, Nate,” she says gently. “I’ll leave you and Jamie to talk for a bit while I get Missy here sorted out.”

Much later that night, she is, as she said she would be, up working, with her phone on silent, when she sees the call come in.

“Hey, you,” she greets him.

“You really are up late working,” he says rather quietly. “How’s it going?”

“Really well. I’m on a roll. I didn’t get to tell you earlier, but I got heaps done this afternoon ‘cos your amazing son spent a couple of hours with Annie. You can tell he’s been around much younger kids. How _are_ you?”

“Tired,” he admits with a sigh. “Long day.”

“And your Mom? And Kelsey?”

“Wrecks. The waiting’s been tough,” he tells her. “But we just met the surgeons.”

“They made it in?”

“Yeah. So, they’ve got a plan. They’ve gone to get some sleep and they’ll operate tomorrow. They think in the evening.”

“How’d they seem?” she asks. “Confident?”

“She is; the sister. He’s a bit more cautious.”

“Did … did they give you any odds?” she asks reluctantly.

“No. They wouldn’t. Just said it’ll be a long surgery and they’ll do their best. That’s all we can ask, right?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “But that doesn’t stop you wanting the guarantee, does it? So … what do you want me to tell Jamie?” Peyton asks him.

“I guess that they’re here and the schedule?” he replies after a moment’s thought. “Nothing else. He knows it’s risky. I don’t want him …”

“It’s okay, Nathan. I’ve got …”

“Shit! I need to go,” he rushes out. “Kelsey’s losing it again. I’ll …”

“Go.”

“Thanks, Sawyer.”

The next night, she’s up working late again when she hears Jamie up and about. When she goes out into the living room, walking a little more heavily than she normally does so as not to startle him, she finds he’s in the kitchen, making hot chocolate but not with any great deal of coordination or efficiency.

“Jamie? You okay?” she asks gently.

He nods, but when he turns, he looks a wreck and she has him in her arms in moments.

“Go sit,” she soothes, after a long, tight hug. “I’ll finish this.”

“I don’t even know why I’m making it,” he mumbles into her shoulder. “It’s way too warm for drinking hot chocolate.”

“Sometimes you need to warm up the chills on the inside, I think,” she tells him, her palms cupping his face while she looks into his tired eyes. “Go on. Sit.”

He bundles himself into a corner of the sofa and thanks her when she delivers the mug to him. She takes a seat, close but not too close.

“You haven’t been talking much tonight,” she observes rather than questions. “I know you’re worried.”

All he can do is nod.

“Jamie,” she says a little cautiously, “it’s hard to make yourself talk to people, I know, but if you possibly can, it’s usually a good thing.”

“I think girls find that easier,” he responds quietly.

“I’m not so sure about that. I never did.”

He looks at her curiously.

“I drew instead of talking,” she admits. “Or I played what your Dad used to call ‘loser rock’ really freaking loud to drown out the noise in my head.”

“You didn’t talk to _anyone_?” he asks, a little intrigued.

“Well … at your age? Your Aunt Brooke about some stuff ... about boys and … no, just about boys and boy trouble.”

He smiles at that. “You mean you talked about my Dad, right?”

She digs her elbow into his side. “No comment. When I was a little older, I used to talk to your Uncle Lucas.”

“I used to when I was little,” he says sadly. “But I can’t imagine doing that now.”

“Oh crap,” she mutters. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I just … I was just trying to say at any age, there only needs to be one … _one_ person you feel okay about talking to. And that one person can change depending on your age, on what’s going on and it might be someone who’s only there briefly, to help you deal with just one thing.”

“Like who?”

“Well … okay … when I was seventeen, I met my birth mother for the first time. I didn’t even know I was adopted until she showed up, and she was already sick. She died not much later, so I only knew her for a short time, but she really turned my head around about some important stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Ummm … oh man … you’re only fourteen,” she says almost to herself, realising she’s dug herself into a bit of a hole.

“Sex stuff?”

“Ummm … yeah … mainly my attitude towards what was okay for me and what wasn’t. But I guess that same thing could apply to other things too.”

“And she died?”  
“She did, yeah.”

“And your Mom, I mean your Mom who brought you up, she died when you were little, right?”

“Yeah. Yes, she did.”

“I’m really scared Coop’s not going to make it,” he admits softly after studying her for a few moments.

“I bet you are,” she replies just as softly. “What scares you most about that?”

“When Dad and Mom split up, it was Coop that had Dad’s back,” Jamie explains. “He’s just … been there. I know my Dad’s like … the strongest guy out there, but … everyone needs someone, right? Coop’s Dad’s someone. And that means Dad can be Nana Deb’s someone and Kelsey’s someone and … and _my _someone.”

“You’re far too wise for fourteen, Jamie Scott,” she says with a warm smile. “And you’re right. Everyone needs someone.”

“Who’s your someone?”

“Well. I guess I haven’t had one for a while. I’ve been lucky though; I haven’t needed a someone for a while. Last time I was going through a real rough patch and needed a someone, I guess it was Brooke and your Dad. That’s a long time ago though.”

They’re both silent for a while. She’s remembering how she came to leave Tree Hill. He’s just … thinking.

“You want to stay up and watch a movie?” she asks him after a bit.

“It’s late.”  
“I don’t think either of us are going to be sleeping much tonight, kid,” she offers. “Listen, you choose a movie. No horrors! And I’ll grab my cell. I made your Dad promise to call us if there was news.”

The two cuddle up on the couch, watching, or half watching, the mildly funny film Jamie chooses. After a while she touches his shoulder and asks him where his head’s at.

“I was thinking about someones,” he says with a small smile at her. “It’s kind of sucky you’re only here for the summer. You’d make a pretty good someone.”

“Jamie … that’s … okay, look … I’ve got a deal for you,” she says as she makes an instant decision in her head. “I am planning on being here just for the summer, but if you promise me that you’ll come to me if you need to talk, not _instead_ of your Dad, though. It has to be _as well as_. If you do that, then I’ll promise you that I’ll stay longer if … if anything happens that means you need me to.”

“You mean if Coop dies,” he translates.

“I guess … yeah. I guess that’s what I mean. If that happens and you need a someone, I’ll hang around a bit. Okay?”

“Okay. Can I make that deal for my Dad too?”  
“Sure. You’re kind of a package deal, anyhow.”

“Thanks, Peyton.”  
“You’re welcome, kiddo.”

She’s kind of surprised, and very flattered, when Nathan Scott’s boy falls asleep on her. And glad that she’s left her phone on silent, because Nathan calls about half an hour later.

“Hi,” she says quietly, gently moving Jamie’s head from her lap and onto a cushion, then shuffling along the couch a bit, leaning forward to fiddle nervously with the drawer handle on the coffee table in front of her.

“You’re whispering?”

“Jamie’s asleep on the couch, just here.”

She pulls the handle distractedly and is surprised when the drawer slides right open. There’s a small photo album there that she picks up absentmindedly.

“He okay?”  
“Bit of a rough night, but he’ll get there. Nathan … this kid … _your_ kid; he’s _incredible_.”

She starts flicking through the album and can’t stop the grin that starts forming as she takes in the detail of the snapshots.

“Like father, like son?” he jokes. “Yeah … he kind of is amazing.”

“It’s all down to you, you know.”

“Well, he has a Mom too,” he points out. “She did a lot … the first eight or nine years, anyway.”

“I know. I do. But it’s _you_ now, and for the last few years. I just …”

“What?”

“I keep thinking that if Dan had been half the Dad you are, your life would’ve been so much easier. And Lucas’ too.”

“What might have been, huh?”

“Well, no. ‘Cos you got there anyway. And … you wanna tell me about this little photo album I just found in your coffee table drawer?”

“What about it?”  
“Why is it stashed away all hidden? These should be on display. Or better yet, blown up and hung on the wall.”

“They’re just pho …”  
“Nathan Scott!” she interrupts. “These _photos_ tell me you took the Ravens to three State champ titles in the last five years! The question is, why didn’t _you_ tell me?”

“I dunno. I just …”

“You used to be such a boaster and now …”

He doesn’t say anything, and she realizes she’s really not supposed to be distracting him like this.

“Oh. I’m sorry … I’m rambling on and you probably called with news.”

“It’s okay. A normal conversion is … but, yeah. He’s out of surgery.”

“He made it through,” she breathes out.

“Yup. They think he’ll wake up tomorrow some time, then they’ll start gradually testing functions.”

“But … so that’s good, right?”

“Yeah. Really good. They’re expecting weakness on his left side, but that he’ll be able to strengthen it up over time.”

“Nathan,” she breathes. “I’m so pleased.”

“Don’t wake up Jamie,” he instructs gently. “Just tell him when he wakes up. I know what he’s like when he’s worried. He’ll be needing the sleep.”

“Okay. Do you think you should stay another day?” she suggests. “You won’t want to leave tomorrow if he hasn’t woken up yet, will you?”

“Ummm. Is that ...?”  
“It’s fine,” she assures him. “We’re fine here.”

“Okay. Peyton? I …”

“Go take care of your family there, Scott. I’ve got your back with your family here.”

She can see him nodding in her mind, relieved but tired, overcome with it all.

“Call us tomorrow,” she murmurs.

“Okay.”

“Hanging up now.”

“Okay.”

She knows she’ll have to be the one to end the call, but she waits just a little longer.

“Nate?”  
“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you.”  
“I …” he whispers, an almost sob strangling the sound.

“I know. I’m really hanging up. Talk to you tomorrow … well … later today. Night, Nate.”


	9. Refreshing Her Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She feels her heart racing in an instant and her head flying, with absolutely no encouragement at all, well … other than the feel of his chest at her back, and his muscle-bound arms right by her head, and … with almost no encouragement, she’s thinking about those kisses. From when Lucas came by. When they both admitted that there was all this … heat. And she said it wasn’t a good idea. And … oh it is a really bad idea.

He’s been back in Tree Hill a couple of days, still in fairly constant contact with either Deb or Kelsey, until one afternoon he picks up the phone, expecting it to be Deb ‘cos it’s her caller ID, and instead gets an earful from his uncle.

Cooper tells him, in no uncertain terms, that he, _Cooper Lee_, is a grown man, and he is sick and tired of being molly coddled by his big sister, and can Nathan please do something that requires _his _mother to be back in Tree Hill, and away from Charlotte, so that he, _Cooper Lee_, can start getting back to some sort of normal life with his family?

“What do you want me to do, Coop? Stage an accident? Maybe ... oh, I dunno … get myself thrown through a window in bar brawl?”

“You? Bar brawl?” his uncle scoffs. “You’re virtually middle aged, you live such a sedate life these days, kid. When was the last time you even talked to a good-looking girl?”

“Apart from your wife?” Nathan retorts with a laugh, relieved beyond belief to hear his uncle sounding like … well, like his uncle.  
“I am very proudly _not_ married! And you keep your eyes off Kels. Just ‘cos there’s no talent in Tree Hill …”  
“I’ll have you know I have two very gorgeous girls staying with me for the summer, old man,” Nathan laughs.  
“Oh yeah? I don’t believe you. How gorgeous?”  
“Very. You know one of them actually.”

Shit! Why the hell did he say that?

“Geeze, Nate, your ex doesn’t count,” Cooper retorts.

“How’d you know?”

“Oh, my God! I was _kidding_. I know she was in town for a few days, but you actually let Haley into the house? For the whole summer?”  
“What!? _No!_” Nathan exclaims. “Why would you ...?”  
“I said your ex. You asked how I knew. That’s commonly known as entrapment, kid.”

There’s a moment’s silence, which Nathan is determined not to fill in case he gives anything else away. But Cooper Lee has always been smart.

“Oh. My. God,” he laughs over the line. “You_ dog_!”

“What?” Nathan asks with an attempt at an innocent tone.  
“Oh c’mon! I only ever met two of your girls ‘cos only two ever counted as _actual _girlfriends. The others, the many, _many_ others were all just … whatevers. If it’s not Haley it has to be Sawyer. I bet she is _smokin’_ these days. She’s there for the summer with a hot friend? Nice!”

“She’s here for the summer with her _very_ cute, _very under one-year-old_ daughter, you idiot.”

“No guy?” Cooper asks.  
“What?”  
“You heard me, nephew. No guy?” his uncle repeats.

“Um … no,” he admits, one hand cupping the back of his neck as he grimaces. His uncle is _way_ too smart.

“She was _awesome_,” Cooper states with what sounds almost like a nostalgic tone. “Feisty as all get out. So, so hot. I did not say that, by the way. ‘Cos she was like … _seventeen_ last time I saw her. Yeah, right … I danced with her at your vow renewal. She scrubbed up real nice. She still … _awesome_?”

Nathan looks up to see the ‘she’ in question arriving around the side of the house with Annie in her arms, and sand all over both of their legs. She grins at him through the door then heads towards the outside tap to wash their legs off. He finds himself moving … yeah, okay, so he can watch those legs being rinsed.

“Nate?”  
“Oh. Sorry. Um, yeah. She’s still awesome.”

“Hmmm. Thanks for that.”  
“For what?”  
“You just gave me the way to get my big sister out of there.”  
“I what?”

“Hey Deb,” he hears Coop yelling, clearly having tipped his face away from the phone just a bit, “you didn’t tell me Nathan had Peyton Sawyer staying with him for the summer.”  
Nathan hears a high-pitched shriek in the background and groans, rubbing his palm over his face. There was a very good reason why he had managed to avoid returning to the conversation about house guests that he’d started with his mother the day he’d picked up Jamie from the airport.

“Coop!” he protests.  
“Bye, nephew!” his uncle chuckles. “And thanks. Really … pretty sure that did the trick. Expect to see your Mom real soon.”

Then he ends the call just as Peyton walks in the door from the deck.

“Hey!” she greets him. “What’s up? You look kind of weird.”

“Um. Nothing,” he says dragging his hand over the top of his head and returning his phone to the countertop, with a slightly resentful look at it. “But I think my Mom will be back in Tree Hill soon.”  
“Well, that’s cool. I always liked your Mom.”  
He looks at her oddly, shakes his head and moves to take Annie.

“She looks all tuckered out,” he observes. “You want me to put her down for a nap?”  
“Would you? I’ll get us some lunch. I got some deli stuff this morning. We can take it out on the deck where there’s a breeze. You got a platter anywhere?”  
“Above the fridge,” he says, turning towards the stairs. “C’mere, Anna-Banana,” he coos, blowing a little raspberry on Anna’s tummy and making her giggle sleepily. “Time for sleep, munchkin.”  
Annie blinks lazily at him and tucks her head into his neck, humming a little. He whispers into the baby’s ear for a moment, then presses a kiss to the side of her head.

When he looks up, Peyton is standing, head tilted to one side, green eyes shining, one leg hooked around the other, watching him pat her daughter’s back. She purses her lips, shakes her head and heads to the kitchen. Too sweet for words.

He heads to the stairs, looking back for … he doesn’t know why. Peyton’s got the fridge door open, and is bending over, looking for the cheeses and salamis and so on that she purchased earlier that day. Her loose t-shirt has pulled up at the back and her purple bikini bottoms are on clear display. She idly runs one foot up and down the back of her other calf as she looks. Nathan swallows. Too _awesome_ … too _hot_ … for words.

When he gets back downstairs a few minutes later, Annie having gone out like a light, he’s met with an interesting sight; Peyton on her tiptoes in front of the fridge, completely stranded. She’d clearly tried to pull that platter out and the dishes on top of it all started to shift, and she got stuck, both hands up, desperately trying to prevent a cascade of crockery from descending on her. He can’t help himself. He laughs.

She’s so stretched out that she can’t even turn her head back to throw him a death stare, but she more than makes up for it with the infamous, and cutting, Peyton Sawyer wit.

“Seriously, you bonehead? Get your sweet but lazy ass over here and help me out before I get an avalanche of your very nice but very heavy serving dishes on top of me.”  
He cracks up harder.

_“Nathan!”_

“Why didn’t you just let them fall?”

“Um, hello? ‘Cos they’d make a freaking lot of noise and Annie’s going to sleep.”  
“Gone.”  
_“What?”_  
“Gone,” he repeats. “Out like a light.”  
“No, I meant _what _are you doing standing there talking about what a champion sleeper my daughter is and watching me all stretched out like I’m on some freaking medieval instrument of torture!” she protests vehemently. “Get over here and save these dishes, you numbskull.”

He steps into the kitchen and right up behind her, reaching over her, with his extra height, to push the offending dishes back into a secure pile. She moves back, expecting him to move back also, but he doesn’t, and she finds herself backed up into him, his biceps still stretched up, either side of her head and his chest pressed against her back.

“Torture’s right,” he murmurs next to her ear.

She feels her heart racing in an instant and her head flying, with absolutely no encouragement at all, well … other than the feel of his chest at her back, and his muscle-bound arms right by her head, and … with _almost _no encouragement, she’s thinking about those kisses. From when Lucas came by. When they both admitted that there was all this … heat. And she said it wasn’t a good idea. And … oh it is a _really_ bad idea.

“Torture?” she asks breathlessly.

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“Um. How so?”  
He leans forward a bit, pressing his hips into hers.

“You. Copper hair. Purple bikini pants on display. Golden skin …_ lots _of golden skin … all stretched out in my kitchen. Torture.”

“Oh. I’ll … um … go get changed.”

She takes a tiny step forward, away from that body, expecting him to step back and give her the space to turn and leave the kitchen. Instead, as she turns, he steps into her, dropping his arms until his hands are at her hips, right on the ties of those purple bikini bottoms, and pushes her back against the fridge. She gasps a little as the backs of her thighs hit the cool stainless.

“Don’t get changed on my account,” he says next to her ear.

“But …”  
“Yeah.”  
“What?” she says, confused, meeting his gaze. Oh boy. Mistake. Now she can’t look away from those blue eyes, that are dark with want.

“Butt,” he grins. “With two ts. _Your _butt. In that bikini. Only just covered by that T-shirt. Which I think is mine, by the way. And then butt not covered, at all, when you reach up to my cupboard like that.”

“Nate …”

“Peyt,” he teases her.

He leans closer, trails his breath from her ear down her neck to her collar bone. She swallows, then notices that her hands are flat against his chest. She frowns at them. How did they get there? And why aren’t they pushing him away?

“Nate!”  
“Peyt!”

“Fuck!” she swears under her breath.

“Mmmm,” he says huskily, right next to her mouth. “I’d love to.”

She’s pushing him away. She is. Except that she’s not. She’s spreading her fingers wide over his pecs and fluttering her eyelids and oh God, turning her mouth a couple of degrees to the left so that his next words are spoken against her lips.

“If you’re gonna move away, do it now,” he warns. She doesn’t move.

“Sawyer, I’m serious. Move away …”

“Or?”

“Or I’m kissing you senseless before I pick you up, wrap your killer legs around my hips, carry you up those stairs and throw you down on my king size.”

She tilts her head back a little and stares him down a little. “_King_ size?” she says archly. “Besides … it’s not the size, it’s what you do with it.”

He slides his hands around her hips to cup her ass and press her hips into his. “I think you’ll recall it’s both,” he mutters against her neck, opening his lips and pressing them, and the tip of his tongue against her sun kissed skin.

“I don’t remember,” she teases him, pouting a little.

He steps forward, pressing her harder against the fridge. His hands slide from her body to hold her face momentarily, while he searches her eyes. Whatever he’s looking for in the depths of her green eyes, he finds it, because a laugh comes from deep within his chest.

“Let me refresh your memory,” he says against her lips before he’s doing exactly what he said he would; kissing her senseless, picking her up, wrapping her legs around his hips (well, to be fair, they seemed to get there of their own accord), striding across the living room and up the stairs. His mouth doesn’t leave hers the entire time. He does, however, stop short of _throwing her down_ on the bed. Instead he positions one knee on the mattress and leans her back, never for a second losing control of her weight, until she feels her shoulders touch the bed.

He holds back for just a second and she knows he’s giving her the opportunity to put the brakes on. But she keenly feels the loss of those lips on hers, so she threads her long fingers into his hair and pulls his mouth back to her.

“Peyt,” he mutters against her mouth.  
“I remember,” she replies, opening her lips to him again and pressing her tongue against his.

“You really want to?” he asks, his hand starting to play with the hem of that T-shirt.  
“Fuck yes.”

And that obscenity from her perfect, already kiss swollen lips makes his mouth go dry and his stomach tighten.

“How long will she sleep for?”  
“Long enough,” she chuckles.

The fingers of one of his hands are playing with the ties on the side of her bikini bottoms, while the other hand pushes up her (his, he was right) T-shirt to reveal her flat stomach, which he trails his mouth over.

“Long enough for me to take my time or long enough just for a mad scramble?” he asks, still playing with those purple ties. She grins and then can’t help but laugh as he realizes that the ties on the bikini are fake; sewn in place over a thin strip of fabric. He looks like a kid that’s opened a beautifully wrapped birthday gift to find a box of air.

“That’s just plain mean,” he moans against her shoulder. “You have to make it up to me for laughing.”

“I can do that.”

“Oh really?”

“Mmmmm,” she says, nodding her head and taking his face between her hands.  
“How?”

“There’s probably time for a mad scramble and _then _taking your time.”

“Well in that case …” he says, lifting himself up off her, grinning when she sighs at the removal of his weight, hauling his T-shirt off and swiftly removing his basketball shorts and underwear.

She swallows. He grins again when her gaze sweeps over him.

“In … in that case?” she repeats as he repositions himself, one knee on the bed, reaching for her hands. He pulls her up to a sitting position while he seats himself then semi-manhandles her into his lap.

“Why are you still wearing clothes?” he says, his hands slipping into the back of the bikini pants, burning trails over her skin, his lips against her ear lobe.

“What? This?” she gestures to the T-shirt (his T-shirt) with an innocent expression.

“Take it off,” he mutters against her neck.

“Bossy,” she exhales as his fingers, still inside the bikini, caress her skin, slowly, slowly moving closer to where she can feel a dull ache and throb.

“Peyton?” he murmurs, this time against her lips.

“Mmmm?”

“Take the damn shirt off.”

“It’s _your_ shirt,” she teases, running her fingers over his shoulder.

“So, _I _should take it off?”  
“Well,” she tilts her head to the side and winks at him, “you did such a good job taking yours off …”

“My hands are busy,” he retorts, with a groan following the words when she presses the pad of her thumb against his mouth.

He pulls back just a fraction and looks at her. He’s looking for something and must find it, because within an instant, one of his strong hands is gently pressing her up a little so that the other can, quick as a flash, tug those purple bikini bottoms down her long legs. He stills then, his hands under her, just holding her, his fingertips close, so close, and yet not quite close enough, to her centre.

His blue eyes, navy with want now, hold hers and the air stills. He doesn’t look away while he gently thrusts up a little, rubbing himself along her, sliding easily. His lips twitch when her eyelids flutter. He trails the tip of his tongue up the side of her neck, while he continues to slide achingly close to, but not into, her; sucks at her earlobe, strokes at her skin with his thumbs while his fingertips continue to tease.

“Condoms in the top drawer,” he says against her ear, voice low and gravelly, before he kisses her again, long and hard and searching and … just forceful enough. And hot. So, so hot. And all the while the palms of those strong hands are cupped under her, imparting heat, while his fingertips tease and he slides slowly to and fro.

She leans back and turns, somehow manages to rummage and retrieve a condom while gripping his shoulder for support. He moves one hand to take the slim package from her, holds it between his thumb and forefinger but returns his hand to join his other. Slides his length along her warmth again.

“Nate,” she sighs, digging her fingertips into his shoulders.

“I would ask if you’re ready,” he says, rocking his hips against her, “but I know you are.”

She signs again as he rocks up against her again.

“You’re … pulsing against me,” he observes as her lips part.

“Wh … why are you still talking?” she demands huskily.

“Because,” he murmurs, right next to her ear, his voice like liquid honey, “you’re still wearing clothes.”

He moves a hand, frames her cheek and turns her face so that her open mouth grazes his waiting lips. She gasps a little, then presses herself against him, licks into his mouth, kisses him deep and long.

“And,” he adds when she finally pulls back a little to draw in air, “my hands are even busier now.” His other hand is removed from her, making her sigh again, and she observes him tearing open the packet and expertly rolling on the condom. Their eyes meet and she leans forward to nip at his lips, then pulls back and, in one languid movement, pulls the T-shirt over her head. Before she’s even dropped it to the floor beside the bed, his fingertips are dancing, sliding the purple bikini top fabric to the side and he’s bending his head to kiss across her skin as he exposes more.

“Nate.”

“Now?”

“God, yes,” she answers, her hands back on his shoulders, then gripping as his hands slide to her hips and hold her, steady and strong, while he, at last, surges up and slides into her in one seamless thrust.

She remembers him having … stamina. Well, he was a teenager; of course, he had stamina. But this? Perhaps it’s the thought of following up the ‘mad scramble’ with ‘taking his time’, but, having teased her and been seemingly so in control, he now makes no effort to hold back. He rises and falls, plunges and strokes and, within minutes, grips her hips hard and throws his head back, pressing hard and gasping for air before he stills.

“Fuck,” he mutters against her shoulder when he can breathe again.

“Indeed,” she grins, her fingertips grazing lazily over his shoulder blades.

“Gimme just a minute,” he breathes out, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the side of her neck.

“Then what?” she asks, her eyebrow raised suggestively.

“Then I’ll get rid of the rest of that bikini.”  
“Oh?”

“Uh-huh. Round two. Taking my time.”

“You let me know when you’re good to go,” she retorts, making her eyes wide and innocent.

He rolls his eyes at her, takes in a long, deep breath then tips them both sideways, landing above her, one thigh between her two, one hand at her hip, the other smoothing her hair back from her forehead.

“Smooth, Scott,” she laughs at him.

“I’ve got some moves,” he smirks.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna see some more?”

“Well, you know, you did say round two …”

“What are you smirking about?” she asks lazily, a good hour later, feathering her fingertips over his hip.

“Apart from the obvious?”  
“The _obvious_?”

“Gorgeous girl in my bed?”

“It wasn’t your _gorgeous girl in my bed_ smirk. It was something else; something more … lighthearted.”  
“You said I have a sweet ass.”

She thinks for a moment. “A sweet,_ lazy_ ass,” she corrects him.

“Still think it’s lazy?” he grins, his hand resting at her hip now. “After the workout you just gave it?”

“Ohmigod, you’re still sixteen at heart, aren’t you?”

“At _heart_? No. I’ve grown up since then. Maybe my sense of humour’s still sixteen. Too much?”

“I like your boyish humour,” she admits with a blush.

“I _have_ grown up since then.”

“Nathan! You grew up years ago. I know that. What’s brought this on?”  
“I guess … I just thought I should say … ahead of the _what is this_ conversation.”

“We have to have a _what is this_ conversation?”

“I dunno, Peyt. I’m assuming we’re on the same page, but …”  
“The page where that was awesome?” she flirts mischievously.

“And?”

“And what?” she shrugs.

“Okay … we clearly _do _need a _what is this_ conversation.”

“It wasn’t awesome?” she asks, suddenly doubting it.  
“Oh no. It was,” he confirms with a deep voice. “More than awesome. And it could … continue to be more than awesome.”

“It could?”

“You see?_ You_ were thinking oncer … well,_ twicer_,” he corrects with a naughty grin, “and_ I_ was thinking …”

“What _were_ you thinking?”  
“Long hot summer?” he mutters against her throat.

“Nate …”

“Go on then,” he prods, leaning back to watch her. “Give me excuse number one.”

“Jamie! Impressionable teenager in the house.”

“We’re not kids,” he counters. “We can be discreet and sensible. And he knows about adult relationships. Next?”  
“I feel like I just threw a ring back at a boy ten minutes ago! I’m not … I shouldn’t be …”  
“Shutting the door after the horse has bolted, Sawyer,” he points out. “You already did. Twice. And from where I was situated? You were having a pretty damned good time!”

“It’s you and me … it’s messy!” she protests, a little whiny even.

“Only if we make it messy. Like I said, we’re not those kids anymore. Two consenting adults. Two _hot _consenting adults. Eyes wide open. No expectations beyond the end of summer.”

“Does it ever work?” she asks speculatively. “Friends with benefits?”

“Maybe not, if you’re in each other’s orbits all the time when it comes to an end. But we’re not, are we? We could choose to be, at the end of summer, if that works; keep in touch. But, if not …”

“How can you be so … so straightforward about this?” she asks him, a small frown creasing her forehead.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” he shrugs. “It just … it’s just making sense to me. But not to you, so that’s …”  
“No. It’s … you’re making it make sense! And that’s what doesn’t make sense to me!”

He laughs at that.

“Yeah. Relationship wisdom from me? Does not compute, right?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. You’re amazing with Jamie and the way you manage things with Haley and stuff … I mean … maybe relationship wisdom a la Nathan Scott is …”  
“At least worth considering?”

“As long as we’re clear that I’m considering a long hot summer, not …”  
“_Not _a relationship.”

“I dunno, Nathan … this …”  
“Fine. I’ll leave you to think about it. You know where I stand.”

And he removes his hand from her thigh, which she doesn’t like at all, and rolls off the bed, walking towards the bathroom. She doesn’t move. She can’t move. She’s too busy watching his back and his … then she hears Annie’s cry and is more than just a bit grateful that that means she has to stop thinking about his back and his sweet, _anything but_ lazy …


	10. Falling for someone the second time around?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "C’mon, neither of you are those people anymore, other than the mad red-hot chemistry. That’s just the same.”  
“You think?”  
“Ohmigod. You two? Sizzling.”  
“This can’t be good,” she says again, thinking it for oh ... only the umpteenth time.  
“Peyton Elizabeth. It’s summer. Have a summer fling, or romance, or whatever? Just … kick back and go with it. Worst case scenario? You leave at the end of summer and don’t see each other again. How is that different to the last eight or nine years?”  
Peyton sits and ponders that for a minute.  
“You know I’m right, P.”  
“Hmmmm.”

The next afternoon, still unsure of what to do, she’s relaxing, or trying to relax, on the deck, when Brooke turns up wearing a cute sundress and carrying a huge tote that she soon reveals is laden with sun block and moisturizer, sunglasses, a stack of magazines, a couple of bottles of sparkling water and a bag of Peyton’s favourite chips.

Peyton flips through the mags, rejects every last one when she finds they’re all fashion related, pounces on the chips and begins to systematically munch her way through them.

They chat a little, soak up the sun. Peyton wanders inside at one point to put some music on, adjusting the volume so that they can hear it outside but can still talk over it.

“Alright, what’s up?” Brooke says suddenly, after a long quiet spell, leaning forward to look at Peyton intensely.

“Sorry?”  
“You’re miles away … and … if my patented sex-dar is properly calibrated, and trust me, my patented sex-dar is _always_ properly calibrated, you got lucky in the last couple of days. So, spill.”

“Brooke …”  
“Oh don’t even bother denying it, P. Sawyer.”

“How do you _do_ that?” Peyton exclaims with a pout.

“It’s a gift,” Brooke shrugs. “It was good, wasn’t it?” she asks, nudging Peyton suggestively with her shoulder.

“Mmm-hmmm.”  
“It was great, wasn’t it?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”  
“Actually, it was … _incredible_, wasn’t it?”  
“Mmm-hmmm.”  
“It was Nathan, wasn’t it?”  
“Mmm … oh crap.”

“Ha! Gotcha!” the brunette exclaims with satisfaction. “Well, well, back to the beginning, huh?”

“Brooke, I … this can’t be good, right?” she asks skeptically.  
“You just said it _was_ good … _and _great _and_ incredible,” Brooke laughs at her.  
“You know what I mean!”

“Buddy, I’m totally not the right girl to be asking about making good decisions about boys,” Brooke points out. “I’m a basket case, remember.”

“But … you’ve always been the best at seeing for everyone else what you can’t see for yourself!”  
“Um. Thanks?”

“Brooke. What am I doing?”  
“Having good, great, incredible no strings attached sex with someone you like and trust?”

“But … how I got my daughter notwithstanding, I don’t really _do_ no strings attached sex.”

“Well … maybe now you do! This is _good_, P. You can have it for both of us; I can have gratuitous sex through you while I’m detoxing from the real thing.”  
“I think you mean vicarious sex.”  
“Do I?”

“Yes.”  
“Well, whatever,” Brooke says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You’re having phenomenal sex. Just, dare I say it, lay back and enjoy it.”

“Brooke. You knew it was him, right? Before you even asked.”  
“Of course.”  
“So how do _you_ know he’s so good? I thought you _couldn’t remember_ the Brathan sex tape incident?”

“How do _I_ know he’s so good? Oh, let me think … you told me. Repeatedly. Over and over and over and _over _again, between the ages of 15 and 17.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”  
“During which time we broke up over and over and over and _over_ again. We were a mess.”

“You were a_ hot_ mess. But … c’mon, neither of you are those people anymore, other than the mad red-hot chemistry. That’s just the same.”  
“You think?”  
“Ohmigod. You two? Sizzling.”

“This can’t be good,” she says again, thinking it for oh ... only the _umpteenth_ time.

“Peyton Elizabeth. It’s summer. Have a summer fling, or romance, or whatever? Just … kick back and go with it. Worst case scenario? You leave at the end of summer and don’t see each other again. How is that different to the last eight or nine years?”

Peyton sits and ponders that for a minute.

“You know I’m right, P.”

“Hmmmm.”

Nathan had turned up then, thankfully ending Brooke’s campaigning.

The three of them had spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening talking about not much at all, until Peyton leapt up and said she was starving and felt like pizza. Nathan laughed at how much food she ordered. Brooke complained that she didn’t know where Peyton put it all, then insisted that she wanted to give Annie her bath and read her stories until she fell asleep, before Brooke herself went home and did just the same thing.

Nathan’s somewhat suspicious when his mother calls a few days later and informs him that she, along with Cooper and Kelsey and the kids, are coming to Tree Hill in a few days’ time. He was prepared for her to come back and is actually surprised she hasn’t already turned up. But he didn’t for a minute think Cooper and co would come with her.

Deb must pick up on his hesitancy because she rushes on to tell him that Coop’s recovering well physically but is champing at the bit for a change of scenery, and that she and Kelsey think the kids, after the stresses of the last few months, could do with a bit of fresh air, sun and tiring themselves out at the beach during the day so that they sleep better at night. Cooper’s doctors are perfectly comfortable with him being away for a few days, as long as he takes it easy.

Nathan will be glad to see them all, of course, but he’s still suspicious. After all, he heard that shriek in the background from his mother when he was talking to Cooper about his summer guests. And it wouldn’t surprise him if they had some sort of scheme cooked up. They’re not fools, his mother and her brother; they’ll pick up that things with him and Peyton are … interesting. His mind wanders for a moment. He’d been more than a bit surprised when, after Brooke had left the other night, Peyton had wordlessly walked up to him as he was rinsing coffee mugs at the kitchen sink, pressed into his side, turned his face around and kissed him long and hard.

“Interesting,” he’d chuckled near her ear. “Wanna tell me more?”  
“Summer?” she’d responded, the single word question reinforcing everything she’d said in bed a few days earlier.

He hadn’t thought twice, merely dropped the mug into the sink with a bit of a clatter and turned, his hands at her hips, and walked her back a couple of steps until she was up against the corner of the counter. He’d returned her kiss with an even longer one but had backed off on the force. Taken some time to play sensuously with her lips, pressing his hips against hers then backing off a bit until he felt her melt against him.

“God, Nathan.”

He’d chuckled again, then teased his lips down the side of her neck, slid his large hands around behind her back and fanned them over her ass, pulling her against him.

“Jesus, you turn me on,” he’d muttered, as her palms had slid over his biceps.

“Yeah,” she’d sighed. “This is insane.”  
“Insanely _good_.”

“You didn’t answer me,” she’d breathed, pulling back a little, as he’d tried to kiss her again.

“Yes, Peyton,” he’d said, pressing his mouth to the pulse at her neck, “_summer_.”

“Just …”

“_Yes_,” he’d interrupted, stealing the rest of the sentence out of her mouth by sealing his mouth over hers and gently sucking on her tongue until she moaned. “_Just_ summer,” he said against her lips. “I know. Now … can I take you to bed, or not?”

“I …” she’d looked dazed, blinking lazily. _I did that to her_, he’d thought and yes, smugly. “I … Jamie?”

“He’s out ‘til late,” he’d responded, moving one hand to thread his fingers into her hair, tilting her head just a little so he could get his lips around her earlobe, nibbling and sucking.

“I … he’s only … but …”

He’d pulled back and rested his forehead against hers for a moment.

“I thought parents were supposed to stop their teenagers having sex, not vice versa,” he’d mumbled, making them both chuckle. “I get that you’re worried about … I dunno’ … impressionable young minds or whatever.”

“I just … when I go … that’s not exactly a …”

“I get it. I do. As a _Dad_, I appreciate it, but as _me_, I … I just wanna take you to bed. And if that means that we keep this … under wraps, then let’s keep this …” He’d trailed his lips over her collar bone. “…under …” And his fingertips had danced at her waist, his thumbs stroking under her breasts. “… wraps.”

“I … oh God …”  
He’d pulled back just a little, just enough so that their eyes could meet and focus.

“Peyton,” he’d said firmly, if breathlessly. “Yes. Summer._ Just_ summer. And yes, we’ll keep this just between us. No … heat when my kid’s around. Now, you need to say it; am I taking you to bed or not? Are you in or out?”

She’d closed her eyes for just a moment, then her fingers had hauled the hem of his t-shirt up and over his head and she’d just stood, gazing foggily at his chest for a few long seconds. She’d looked up at him through those lashes, her green eyes clearing as he returned her gaze.

“In.”  
“In?”

“In. Take me to bed.”  
  


When Deb, Coop, Kelsey and their three boys turn up at the beach house two days later, he’s therefore on guard. They declare they’re just there for coffee, a quick catch up and to schedule the next few days before they head to Deb’s to unpack and get the boys settled in. Nathan relaxes, but just a little.

Deb embraces Peyton warmly and the two chat for a few minutes until, upon hearing Annie’s burbles after waking, Peyton excuses herself to get her daughter up. Nathan can’t help but be amused when his mother and Annie meet; Deb is _instantly_ besotted with Peyton’s daughter. She catches him rolling his eyes at her.

“What?” she laughs. “I can’t help it! I love my nephews, really, I do, but a _girl!_ A gorgeous little girl! She is _divine_, aren’t you Miss Annie?”

Nathan merely shakes his head and heads into the kitchen to make coffee, wondering, perhaps, if his Mom would have liked more children. A daughter. It had taken her a while to fully embrace Haley, but she had eventually, and she’d been devastated when that all fell apart. There’d never been a sign of her being anything but 100% loyal to Nathan, but he realizes now that she missed having someone in that space.

Over coffee, Nathan’s so preoccupied with watching Deb for signs of nosiness, stirring or outright matchmaking, that he’s completely gazumped by his uncle.

“So,” Cooper declares after he’s finished his coffee, eaten half a plate of Peyton’s cookies, and slapped away Kelsey’s hands when she’d tried to plump up the sofa cushions behind his back. “As you can see, Kels is still fussing around me non-stop, and Deb’s worse.”  
“Lucky you,” Nathan grins. “That’ll learn you.”

“Yeah,” Cooper says drily, “punishment for having the nerve to get a brain tumour, right?”

“Honey,” Kelsey starts, before he takes her hand and hushes her, then twists their fingers together and raises them so he can kiss her knuckles.

“Anyways,” he continues, “so that I don’t pay back these amazing two women who have taken such good care of me by turning into a grumpy, ungrateful bastard, _you_, kid,” he gestures to Nathan, “are taking them and all the boys, including yours, out tomorrow.”  
“Oh I am, am I?” Nathans jokes good naturedly.

“Yep,” Coop says. “They’ll pick you up here at 9.”

“Why don’t I come and get them?”

“Because they’ll drop me here at the same time,” Cooper responds smugly. “I’m going to sit on your deck and get some sunshine and vitamin D on my pasty white skin, and your delightful house guests are going to keep me company.”

“I … “

“What?” Peyton interrupts, laughing. “Who said I’m playing nursemaid?”

“Aah,” Cooper grins, “I know you’re a big softie, Peyton Sawyer. I know if I say ‘_but, Peyton my kids need a day out with their Mom and their cousins without their post-surgical Dad being a bloody handbrake’_ that you’ll take pity on me.”  
“I will, will I?”

There’s a half hour insane flurry of activity the next morning when Deb, Kelsey, Cooper and co arrive. Deb fusses around Annie again; Jamie’s uncharacteristically disorganised, making multiple trips back to his room to get things he’d forgotten, the three rambunctious Lee boys at his heels each time, hero worship of their ‘cousin’ apparent to all; Kelsey flutters around Coop until he grabs her wrists, kisses her hard and tells her to ‘get the hell outta here, woman’.

Eventually they’re gone, the front door banging one last time and quietness settling over the house.

“Far out,” Peyton laughs.

“Far _away_, thank goodness,” Cooper responds, “at least for the day.”

Then he throws her a wink and walks onto the deck, pulling one of the loungers into a shady spot and settling in.

Cooper actually sleeps away much of the day, firstly on the sun longer, then on the extremely comfortable couch in Nathan’s living room when it gets too warm on the deck, then back to the heavy sun lounger on the deck when it cools down a bit again.

Peyton, like Kelsey before her, flutters around him a little at first, offering water, juice, coffee, crackers, fruit, a blanket then, when he tells her in no uncertain terms that he already has an overprotective sister and a still anxious partner, and that the day is supposed to be about him being less fussed over, not more, thank you very much, she leaves him to his sleep while she catches up on washing, some admin, tidying up some work folders.

Midafternoon, when she notices he’s awake and sitting up, she takes mugs of coffee and a plate of cheeses, fruit and nuts outside and places them all on the table next to his lounger.

“Can I sit if I promise not to fuss at you?” she teases.

“I’ll grant you a probationary period,” he teases back. “First sign of fussing and I’ll boot you back inside.”

“You were right to make us all leave you alone,” she says as she sits, “you look much more relaxed than you did earlier.”

“Yeah? I feel it, too.”

“Kids not the only ones that needed fresh air and sleep, huh?”

“Maybe so,” he’d concedes as the sips the coffee. “Oh, that’s good.”

He looks at the plate and she pushes it towards him.

“Isn’t that your lunch?”

“Cooper, I ate lunch hours ago. It’s after four.”  
“Really? Jesus, I did sleep.”  
“The plate’s for you. And no, you idiot, I’m not fussing. It’s just fruit and cheese.”

“It looks great. I … my appetite’s been shit lately. But that looks really … thanks.”  
“Eat it all and I might even offer to get you a beer,” she laughs, “if you’re allowed? After the surgery, I mean. And yes, I will phone Kelsey and ask if I think you’re lying to me.”

“You don’t have her number,” he points out.

“Fine,” she huffs, “I’ll phone Nathan, and he’ll ask Kelsey. Either way, if you lie to me Cooper Lee, you’re screwed.”  
“I am allowed a beer every so often,” he informs her. “No need to check up on me. I’m not lying. I do _want _to get back on my feet and anyway, you’re a fine one to talk about being screwed, Sawyer,” he points out, eyebrows raised and a grin forming.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t try and pull the innocent act with me,” he says, simultaneously grabbing a small handful nuts and pointing a finger at her. “You and my nephew,” he says confidently, before tossing the nuts into his mouth.

“I … what?”

He watches her, amusement playing around his mouth and eyes while he chews, until she huffs a little then stands and goes inside, returning a couple of minutes later with two beers in hand.

He extends his hand for one, but she holds it out of reach.

“Just … don’t …” she says.

“Don’t?”

“Cooper …” she warns.  
“He’s a good guy,” he says.

“I know that.”

“Okay,” he says, “I won’t give you shit.”

“Good.”  
“Can I have that beer now?”

“Yes, you _may_,” she replies, making him roll his eyes at her.

She passes the bottle to him and he takes a long draft, his eyes closing in appreciation.

“Jeeze, that tastes good,” he mumbles.

“Does everything taste better after such a …”  
“Life-saving surgery?”

She nods.

“Yeah. I guess the trick will be to keep appreciating it, right?”

“That sounds like a good plan.”

They sit in companionable silence for a while, watching families on the beach with balls and dogs and bats and racquets and big towels and colourful umbrellas, until he mentions that Deb, Nathan, Kelsey and the kids should be back soon.

“I never thought of you as being a Dad,” Peyton observes, before blushing and apologizing.

“It’s fine,” he waves her apology off, “no need to stand on ceremony with me. Besides, _I_ never thought of me as being a Dad, either.”

“What changed?”  
“I met Kels.”  
“That simple, huh?”  
“Yep.”

He drains the last of his beer and, dangling the empty bottle between his finger, looks sideways at her.

“So, what’s it like?” he asks.

“What’s what like?”

“Falling for someone the second time around?”

“I … _what_?”

“C’mon, Sawyer,” he chides her.

“What?”

“You and Nate.”

“You said you wouldn’t …”  
“I’m not. I’m not giving you shit. I’m asking what it’s like.”  
“I’m … I’m not …”  
“Yeah, okay,” he says indulgently.


	11. A Confrontation with James Lucas Scott

Jamie had headed into town for a movie with friends earlier in the week, has been a bit offhand with both Peyton and his father for the couple of days since then, and has spent the entire afternoon of the second day hidden in his room. So far Nathan has put it down to normal teenaged ‘stuff’, but Peyton can tell his patience is wearing a bit thin. He and Jamie have been a team since Haley started touring, and even before that, and Nate isn’t used to his son being like this.

On the second day, Peyton cooks dinner, but when she and Nathan are sitting down to eat and Jamie is called to join them, the boy emerges, takes his plate and starts heading back to his room.

Nathan, having had enough of the pouting and sideways glances, hauls him up on it. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to my room.” The teenager’s tone is somewhat belligerent, not something Peyton has heard from him before, and from the look on Nathan’s face, not something Jamie’s father has heard either.

“Not a chance,” Nathan says firmly. “We eat together at the table, especially when someone has gone to the trouble of cooking for us. You know that.”

Jamie rolls his eyes but joins them at the table, muttering under his breath.

“Jamie don’t mutter at me,” Nathan warns. “If you’ve got something to say, then say it.”

“I said I’m not a little kid anymore.”

Nathan’s confused as hell. “I’m fully aware of that. That’s why you’ve had more freedom since you’ve been back; as long as you’re back by dark or, if not, that I know where you are. And that you either have a safe ride home, or a time and place sorted for me to pick you up. But expecting you to eat with us is not about age.”

“It’s not about dinner.”

“Then what? Jamie _c’mon_. You’ve always been able to tell me what’s up. I don’t want that to change.”

Jamie flicks his eyes from Peyton and back to his father. She spots it and glances at Nathan. He saw it too.

“Jamie, if you need to talk to your Dad, I’m happy to take my dinner out on the deck. It’s a gorgeous evening. Everything tastes better outside anyway.”

She’s half standing by the time she’s finished making the offer, but Jamie shakes his head.

“No. It’s okay, Peyton,” he says, softening his tone apologetically. “It’s … it’s kind of about you anyway.”

“Hon, if you want more guy time with your Dad over summer and you’d rather Annie and I weren’t staying here, we can head to a hotel and just come visit. It’s really not a problem. I get that … I used to try and make the most of the summertime I had with my Dad too.”

“No!” he protests quickly. “Really. I don’t have a problem with you being here. You’re really cool. I like how you’re showing me art stuff. And Anna-Banana’s awesome.”

Nathan’s watching the conversation. He’s amazed at the rapport Peyton and Jamie have built in only a couple of weeks. Jamie’s never been closed off, but after his parents split, he was certainly a bit more guarded. And when he found out it was Haley’s infidelity that precipitated the divorce and that that was kind of history repeating itself because his beloved Nana Deb had also had an … indiscretion … with her husband’s brother (gee, thanks, Dan, for spilling the beans on those two choice nuggets), Jamie was definitely much more cautious with how open he was with women. But it isn’t Peyton’s job to get the bottom of this; Jamie’s his son and it’s his responsibility.

“Alright, Jamie. I don’t think of you as a little kid,” Nathan says calmly. “I really don’t. But there clearly is something going on so just spit it out. I can’t do anything to fix it if I don’t know what it is.”

Jamie nods, but looks a little hesitant. After a few seconds, he eventually speaks.

“When I went to the movies the other night, I bumped into Uncle Lucas.”

“Okay. And?”

“Well. I mean ... I know he’s not around much and it’s a long time since I’ve seen him. And I don’t _want _to see him after what he did. And from what I’ve heard, he can be a bit of a ... you know ... dickhead ... sorry … idiot … these days. But he said something.”

Nathan’s eyes narrow. He’s already thinking that if he has to go and pay his brother a little visit, he’ll do it. As much as he doesn’t want to see the … _idiot_ … he won’t have him messing with Jamie’s head.

“You’re right. He has been a bit of an … _idiot_ ...” he emphasizes at his son, letting him know that Jamie’s first choice of word is not okay, but he’ll let it slide, _this_ time. Jamie smiles a little. “So maybe you should take anything he says with a grain of salt, Jamie. Or at least ask me about it. You said this was kind of about Peyton?”

Jamie nods.

“You have to understand that your uncle has some … lingering, and I think pretty strong but also pretty confused feelings, about Peyton.”

Peyton shoots Nathan a look. Where is he going with _that_? But Jamie’s response stuns her even more.

“Yeah. I figured that. I have read his first book.”

“You have?” That’s Nathan _and_ Peyton together. Both as shocked as the other. For different reasons.

Nathan is the first to speak. “Umm, Jamie, I…”

Jamie actually laughs at that.

“It’s okay, Dad. I knew you were a bit of an … _idiot_ … back then. But it was a long time ago, right?”

“Yeah it was. And hopefully the people that I was an … _idiot_ … to, know how much I regret it.” He gives Peyton a little kick under the table and she smiles ruefully. She knows. She knew a long time ago. She looks at Jamie, who is clearly trying to figure out how to say something.

“Jamie,” she says, “what was it that Lucas said that’s got you so rattled? If it was about me, I’m more than happy to hear it and address it.”

The teen looks from her to his father and back before he answers.

“It was about both of you,” he says cautiously. “He asked me how I was finding it with my Dad having a girlfriend living in the house. ‘Shacked up’ I think is what he said.”

The colour drains from Peyton’s face instantly but Nathan looks remarkably calm. She supposes that when you’ve grown with your kid over fourteen years, you learn a few tricks.

“And what did you say to that?” Nathan asks, still calm, just sounding a little curious.

“I told him I didn’t know what, or who, he was talking about and he said you two must be doing a better job of keeping your hands off each other in front of me than you did in front of him.”

“Jamie …” Nathan starts, but Jamie cuts him off.

“Dad! I’m not a little kid. You two don’t need to do the separate rooms, pretending Peyton’s just here as a guest thing. I know about sex.”

“Jamie, it’s not quite that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” his son retorts. “So, that big talk you and I had when I was like 10 or whatever was a big lie?”

“What talk when you were ‘like 10 or whatever’? If I recall, the ‘birds and bees’ discussion was with your Mom _and _me, and you were quite a bit younger than that.”

“Later. I was 10, I think,” Jamie says. “And Chuck was saying all this … stuff … about girls and it freaked me out.”

Nathan can’t help but smile a bit.

“Chuck,” he sighs, shaking his head. “That kid oughta be illegal! I remember now. You said Chuck had been telling everyone he had secrets to reveal and then was telling you all a pile of … well ... detailed stuff he shouldn’t have been telling other ten-year old kids. You were so freaked out you said you didn’t get why people ‘did’ sex. That it seemed kind of scary.”

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees, looking slightly embarrassed. Nathan makes a mental note to ask Jamie, some other time, but not too far away, whether they need to have another conversation about this. He was only fourteen when he started ... and Jamie’s … fourteen. Shit. That all seems too close for comfort.

“I told you that people didn’t _do_ sex, they _had_ sex, and that I was pretty sure you’d understand when you were a bit older.”

“Yeah … and when I said I didn’t understand why people would want to do something so creepy, you told me that it’s not creepy at all and people have sex for a lot of different reasons, and that most of those reasons are perfectly okay, as long as you’re both being _honest_ with each other about them.”

“I did,” Nathan agrees. “And that’s still what I think.”

Peyton, listening to this conversation between father and son, is awestruck. They really do have an amazing, open relationship. She wonders, if her Mom hadn’t died so young, if they’d have been able to talk like this.

Jamie continues. “And you said that sex isn’t a _secret_ and shouldn’t be treated like one, and that if you’re being secretive about it, then something’s probably not right about what you’re doing.”

Nathan nods. Jamie looks from his Dad to Peyton and back.

“Then why are _you two_ hiding it from _me_?” he exclaims, as if the question is obvious. “Like I said, I’m _not_ a little kid. If you’re being secretive, then _why?_ What are you doing that’s wrong?”

This time Nathan really doesn’t know where to go. He’s always tried to be upfront with Jamie, and he does believe all of those things. But sometimes life is just a bit more complex ... and now he’s in a corner. He really doesn’t want to explain the trick? joke? he and Peyton played on Luke. That’s not really the message he wants to send to his son. And he doesn’t want to put his foot in it with Peyton; sure, she wanted to keep this quiet for Jamie’s sake. But maybe also for her own? But he doesn’t want to lie either. His mind is churning when Peyton steps in.

“Jamie,” she says. “This is because of me.”  
Nathan nudges her under the table but she pats his thigh quickly to let him know to trust her. And … he does. She continues.

“You said you read _Ravens_, so you know your Dad and I dated a long time ago. We ran into each other after a long time, and I was in a bit of a pickle. I’d just broken off an engagement and was moving cities. Your Dad invited me here to regroup, and I accepted. I guess we kind of … accidentally … found that spark was still there, or had come back, or something. That’s what your uncle saw. And it probably wasn’t very … polite of us, to put him in that situation.”

“So, if you’re … you know … that _into each other_ … then why pretend you’re not?”

Nathan gives her another kick under the table, harder this time. Yeah, he’s saying, why is that?

“Because we needed some time to think about that,” she explains carefully. “Like I said, I just came out of an engagement and it’s not usually smart to leap straight into something new … or old ... or whatever! It sounds to me like your Dad’s given you some pretty good advice on the whole sex thing. And take it from me, sometimes taking some time to think about it is exactly the right thing to do. You can avoid an awful lot of heartache if you take the time to think it through and be sure.”

Jamie nods and is finally looking more relaxed.

“So, Uncle Luke said he saw you a while ago. Are you done thinking about it yet?” He’s looking at both of them, but Nathan kind of gives the game away with his next comment.

“Jamie, you really can’t ask people personal questions like that, especially not when they’re our guest.”

Jamie looks at his father through narrowed eyes. “So, what you’re saying is that it was Peyton that had to think about it, not you?”

Nathan decides he may as well put it all on the table.

“Yeah, kid,” he says very straightforwardly. “That’s what I’m saying. And you know what? A good guy does that. A good guy gives the girl time if that’s what she needs. And if nothing else, what you’ve seen since you got back is that it’s entirely possible to still be great friends, and have something special, even if you decide not to take it any further in the sex department.”

Jamie considers that for a moment, then goes to gather up his empty plate, and cutlery. Peyton looks at her plate, which has barely been touched, and at Nathan’s, which is not much further on than hers, and marvels that Jamie could eat his entire meal while having this deep, difficult conversation.

“Can I be excused?” he asks.

“Sure,” his father replies. “There’s ice cream in the freezer if you want dessert. And you _may_ take _that_ to your room if you want!”

Jamie laughs at that and stands up. While the adults are finishing their meals, he quickly rinses his dishes and the few preparation dishes that are on the counter and stacks the dishwasher. He scoops some ice cream into a bowl and heads out of the kitchen. Peyton could not imagine a fourteen-year-old Nathan doing any of that, except for the ice cream scooping. She learns how much he is like his father though, when he stops next to her chair and leans down.

“Peyton, my Dad’s a pretty good guy and from what I’m told, most girls think he’s kinda hot.”

“Jamie Scott!” she laughs. “Are you playing matchmaker?”

He shrugs. “Summer romances are a great American tradition, aren’t they?”

“Geeze,” she says, “how old are you? Forty? Fifty?”

“I just … I really like you, P. And I think my Dad does too. What’s wrong with that?”

She looks at this kid who is so much older than his years in some respects and smiles.

“Nothing, Jamie. Nothing’s wrong with that at all.”

He heads to his room, and Nathan and Peyton finish their meal in silence. Though Nate argues for a bit, she insists on cleaning up, handing him a beer and shooing him out onto the deck to enjoy the evening.

She can just see him from the kitchen where she’s working. He’s leaning on the end pole of the deck railing, one leg straight and grounded, the other bent and on the railing. That takes her mind back to that day, what was it? a couple of weeks ago, when he was in just that position and they staged the second of their crazy kisses to make a point with Lucas.

And that makes her think about a few days ago, and that near accident in the kitchen that turned _her_ into a trembling mess and turned the late afternoon and early evening into the best sex she can remember having in an awfully long time … maybe ever. And even thinking about it makes her flush, and her knees just about give out. It’s insane how much she wants him, and she really doesn’t think it’s just the … excitement or whatever of having a secret … thing … affair … whatever. She thought they had chemistry when they were kids, but _this_? This is a whole different ball game. And, she realizes, it’s because he is, as his amazing son says, a pretty good guy. In fact, she thinks, he’s quite possibly the best guy she knows. He’s been straight up and straight forward and very patient. But also made it abundantly clear he thinks they should be enjoying whatever this feeling is, not throwing it away, squandering it when it can be so damned hard to find. And, all of a sudden, she decides he’s right; there’s nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to protect Jamie from.

She joins him on the deck, marching right up to him, taking the beer out of his hand and putting it on the table behind her.

“I was quite enjoying that beer,” he protests mildly, moving his bent knee off the rail and standing straight.

“You can have it back when I’ve finished with you.”

She moves closer, hooks her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans.

“Sounds … interesting.” He casts a quick look down at her fingers and raising an eyebrow. “Looks interesting, too.”

“Jamie’s right. You _are_ a pretty good guy. And I don’t know what girls he’d be talking to that think you’re kinda hot. It’s a little disturbing if they’re his school friends, quite frankly. But _this_ girl …” she unhooks her left hand and gestures to herself. He takes her hand and puts it right back where it was with a smirk. “… thinks you’re _very_ hot.”

“Don’t mess with me, Sawyer. Where’s your head at?”

She shakes her head.

“I’m not messing with you, Nathan. I’m not saying I’m staying on after summer. Be very clear on that. But as long as we’re honest about the time limit on this, we shouldn’t have to … hide. That’s where I’m at.”

He studies her for a few seconds. He knows that’s as good as it’s going to get … for now. He really doesn’t know where it’ll go, or how far she’ll _let_ it go is maybe more accurate, but he does know it’s been a hell of a long time since anyone made him want to even think about this stuff. And maybe she’s the mother of a baby, and maybe he’s the father of a teenager, but she’s still a hot girl, a really hot girl, actually a beautiful woman, and he’s still ... well ... he’s still Nathan Scott. And as long as he’s doing what he told his boy is the right thing to do – being honest – he’s going to take this and run with it.

“Alright,” he says, nodding his head slowly and looking thoughtful - as if he’s about to say something very sage. “So, what_ exactly_ is it you need to get done so I can have my beer back?”

She throws her head back and laughs. And as much he was going to make _her_ start it, seeing her like that, with that slender neck exposed, completely messes with his resolve and his lips are on the hollow at the base of her neck before he can even think about it. It turns into a make out session every bit as hot as the others. And they’re oblivious to Jamie returning his dessert bowl to the kitchen, placing it in the dishwasher and moving to stand in the doorway. Eventually though, they come up for air, and become aware that they have an audience. Nathan turns a blushing Peyton around in his arms so that they are both facing his son, keeping his arms around her and tucking his chin into the crook of her neck.

“Um,” says Jamie, taking a wide footed stance and crossing his arms over a chest in a manner that smacks of Nathan, “get a room? And by that, I mean one, not two.” He looks a bit coy, and a tiny bit embarrassed, but mainly smug, like he had a hand in this. Matchmaker indeed.

A laugh explodes out of Nathan. It’s funny how when Lucas said something similar a few weeks back it was snide and somehow nasty and ... just yuck. But from Jamie, after the conversation over dinner, it’s just kind of hilarious. Nathan places a quick kiss on the side of Peyton’s neck then looks at his son.

“So apparently giving the girl time to think was a really good move, kid. Let that be a lesson to you.”

Jamie smiles and goes to turn.

“Jamie?”

“Yeah Dad?”

“If we …”

“Just move her stuff into your room, Dad. That’s far less disturbing than the idea of catching one of you sneaking down the hallway half naked, or worse, in the middle of the night.”

He grins and he’s gone.


	12. Copper Haired Supermodel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, this is what, then?” Bevin asks, curiosity piqued. “Summer romance?”  
“Something like that,” Peyton replies. “We’re … consenting adults having fun. That’s all that matters right now.”  
Skills looks between the two of them.  
“Ah-huh,” he says sceptically. “You worry me, people. That sounds like a recipe for some good old-fashioned Tree Hill drama if you ask me.”  
Peyton leans forward and pats him on the head, rubbing her palm over his smoothly shaved scalp.  
“Skills. Baby,” she says as if speaking to a young child. “I’m Peyton Sawyer. Drama is what I do. I got through losing my Moms, one of which I didn’t even know about until I was 17; absentee Dad; a high school love triangle; a bullet in the leg; a psycho stalker; a botched proposal; freaking out about an old boyfriend marrying someone else; a broken engagement to a multi-millionaire, actually make that multi-billionaire. Oh … and solo motherhood. I reckon I can cope with a summer romance with old 23 over here. Leave the worrying to me.”

Sunday morning and Peyton is, very uncharacteristically, playing full on 70s disco, feeling extremely chipper and boogieing about the kitchen making breakfast for Jamie and Annie. Nathan’s out running, he’s been gone for well over an hour, and she wonders how he can run in this heat. It’s not even 9am yet but it’s already very warm and keeping Annie cool for the day is clearly going to involve hanging her bouncy jumper over the paddling pool of cool water … again.

Just as the brothers Gibb are hitting the peak of _Stayin’ Alive_, she hears the front door burst open (what is it with people just walking on in in this town?) and a voice she hasn’t heard for years.

“Yo’ Nate, where are you, man? Word about town is you’re shacked up with some freakily gorgeous copper-haired supermodel. You move fast, dude. I’ve only been gone eight weeks. Who is this hot chicky-babe?”

Peyton smiles to herself and, without moving from her spot at the kitchen counter, yells out a reply.

“The hot chicky-babe would be me.”

“Oh. Shoot. Sorry hot chicky-babe.”

He appears around the corner, spotting the back of what looks like a seriously hot girl at the kitchen sink.

“Hey, I’m …”  
“Antwon Skills Taylor,” she finishes for him, still intent on her task.

“Ah … my reputation precedes me …?”

She turns around, grinning. “Nah. I just remember that chocolatey voice of yours, Skills.”

“Holy shit!” he exclaims, his jaw dropping momentarily. “The freakily gorgeous copper-haired supermodel is P. Sawyer? Get that fine ass of yours in here for a little Skills Taylor huggin’, baby girl.”

He hauls her in for a long hug, then holds her at arms’ length, shaking his head and grinning like a madman.

“Man, the gossip is right,” he says appreciatively. “You are _smokin’_, P. Sawyer.”

“Not too shabby yourself, Skills,” she laughs, “you flatterer. So, where’s Bevin? I hear you guys are all hot and heavy again.”

Just then, the lady in question comes around the corner.

“Hey Bev, baby, look who it is.”

Bevin looks from Skills to Peyton and after just a second a wide smile splits her face.

“Oh wow, Peyton! Yay! Hug!”

Hugs dispensed, coffee and tea made, and assurances given that Nathan should be back any minute, Peyton, Skills and Bevin are perched on barstools at the counter, chatting, when Jamie wanders in, with Annie in his arms.

“Hey, Uncle Skills. You’re back from Europe early.”

“James Lucas Scott,” Skills replies, eyebrow raised. “_Dude_. What’s with the little person? Your Mom and Dad might have had you at 18, but don’t you think 14’s taking it just a little bit too far?”

“She’s 8 months old, Skills, I’d have had to have her at 13. That’s too much, even in Tree Hill,” Jamie responds drily. “This is Anna-Banana. She’s Peyton’s rug rat.”

Skills and Bevin look at Peyton, who laughs and shrugs.

“P. Sawyer! Baby Girl _has_ a baby girl?”

“And she is sooooo cute,” chirps Bevin, who is off her stool in a flash and over to Jamie, taking Annie from him, as a very hot and sweaty Nathan steps inside off the deck.

“Hey Skills, Bevin,” he greets them, looking around at the group. “You’re back a month early. What’s up?”

Skills and Bevin through each other a look and she nods.

“Well,” begins Skills, “we have news. Bev’s … _we_ … are pregnant. Twelve weeks. So, we wanted to come back and get antenatal checks and stuff underway. Besides, late summer in Tree Hill ... kinda great.”

A flurry of congratulations later, kids fed, Nathan showered, and the four old friends are hanging out on the deck, sipping cold drinks, laughing at Annie bouncing in her jumper and kicking her toes in cool water, and catching up on their missed years. Skills eyes Nathan at one point, shaking his head and smiling disbelievingly.

“Skills? What’s up?”

“You two,” he answers, gesturing between Nathan and Peyton. “Back to the beginning, huh? Is it Neyton or Pathan?”

“Coming from, man,” Nathan counters, waggling his finger between his friends. “Skevin or Bills? Or Bantwon?”

“Yeah. Maybe not,” Skills shrugs. “And no diversionary tactics! How did this sexy little Sawyer Scott reunion happen?”

Nathan looks at Peyton and gestures to her to tell the story. Mainly because he’s pretty interested in what her current spin on it will be.

“Well,” she begins, “we ran into each other at LAX a couple months back. I was juggling a pile of stuff getting out of a cab and he got all charming Southern gent and _let me help you with that luggage ma’am_ and bam! Sawyer Scott reunion.”

“And what? He didn’t know it was you when he leapt in all chivalrous, like?”

“Nope. Different hair. Big dark glasses.” At that she feels Nathan’s hand just touch down on her thigh momentarily. A silent gesture of support. Not that she needs it. But it’s nice to have anyway. “Actually,” she continues in a teasing tone, “he walked off still not knowing it was me. He figured it out later.”

“So, Nate was coming back from delivering Jamie to Haley,” Skills surmises, “and you were what? Coming back for a holiday?”

“Nope. I was going … somewhere else. I just got hogtied and kidnapped and brought here for the summer.”

Skills raises an eyebrow at Nathan.

“Hey Skills, man, what can I say? I can be quite charmingly persuasive when I want to be.”

“So, this is what, then?” Bevin asks, curiosity piqued. “Summer romance?”

“Something like that,” Peyton replies. “We’re … consenting adults having fun. That’s all that matters right now.”

Skills looks between the two of them.

“Ah-huh,” he says sceptically. “You worry me, people. That sounds like a recipe for some good old-fashioned Tree Hill drama if you ask me.”

Peyton leans forward and pats him on the head, rubbing her palm over his smoothly shaved scalp.

“Skills. _Baby_,” she says as if speaking to a young child. “I’m Peyton Sawyer. Drama is what I do. I got through losing my Moms, one of which I didn’t even know about until I was 17; absentee Dad; a high school love triangle; a bullet in the leg; a psycho stalker; a botched proposal; freaking out about an old boyfriend marrying someone else; a broken engagement to a multi-millionaire, actually make that multi-_billionaire_. Oh … and solo motherhood. I reckon I can cope with a summer romance with old 23 over here. Leave the worrying to me.”

Bevin laughs and then jumps in, changing the subject. “Oh. We almost forgot. We didn’t just come over to say _hi _and _we’re back_ and to verify the gossip about the hot supermodel.”

Nathan looks confused but Peyton just laughs. “Tell you later, Nate,” she says, patting his leg.

“We bumped into Coach Durham this morning,” Bevin continues, “and we got to talking about how long it is since we all graduated. Then he was saying it’s his birthday next weekend ...”  
“Oh yeah,” says Peyton, calculating quickly, “he must be turning 75.”  
“Yeah,” Bevin agrees. “How’d you know that?”

“Coach had the same birthday as my Mom, and he told me once he was exactly 20 years older. She would have been turning 55 if she was still alive, so that makes Whitey 75.”

“Well,” continues Bevin, “we were thinking maybe we could do something for him. Maybe a nice lunch?”  
“That is such a cool idea!” Peyton exclaims. “I’d_ love_ to see him again. Nate, can we do it here? There’s plenty of room on the deck.”

Nate raises his eyebrows, smirking.

“Sure babe, but you might want to wait until dark.”

“What?” She’s both puzzled at what he means, and a little … something? unnerved? thrilled? by that_ babe_.  
“_Do it_ on the deck?”

She slaps his arm.

“Geeze, Nathan. What are you? 16 again?”

“I am with you, yeah.”

“We have guests sitting right here!”

“Guests? It’s Skills and Bevin!” He’s both amused at her protest, and a little something? encouraged? stoked? by that _we._

“You’re impossible,” she mutters. “Can we host a lunch for Whitey’s birthday next weekend or not?”

“Sure. But you do realise we’ll have to include Lucas and Haley if they’re still around? We can’t drag Whitey into any of our … stuff.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” she concedes reluctantly.  
“What?” says Skills. “Luke and Hales are in town? Together?”

“Nah,” answers Nathan. “Total coincidence. Haley brought Jamie back early ‘cos she got offered a tour spot. So, she was here for a few days, then away. She comes back for a few days in between tour legs to spend some time with Jamie, seeing as though he was supposed to be with her anyway. She might be back next weekend. Not sure.”

“And Luke?”  
“Who knows why he’s back? He was only going to be in town for few days, but it’s been weeks now. We’ve run into him a couple of times, but it hasn’t exactly been happy family reunion time.”

“I get that,” Skills says in solidarity. “Man, if it was me, I wouldn’t _ever_ forgive him. You okay with them both being here if we do this lunch for Whitey?”  
“Yeah. Yeah. It’s Whitey. He’s more important than the drama, right?”

So, Skills makes the call to Coach Durham, who is overwhelmed by the offer, and an early afternoon lunch for the next Sunday is confirmed. Peyton calls Brooke, who is excited at the idea and immediately offers to take care of all of the beverages.

Nathan decides it’s enough that he’s having them in his home and that even if it’s a bit rude, he’ll invite his ex-wife and his ex-brother by text rather than calling them, which he duly does, adding a _PS You’d better behave yourself or I will beat your ass and throw you out, even if it is Whitey’s75th_ to his brother’s. Haley replies promptly confirming that she can be in town that day and with an offer to bring desserts. Lucas replies later in the day that he’ll be there and that he’ll behave _with proprietary_ if Nathan does.

Nate chuckles when he reads that response as he’s lying in bed, waiting for Peyton to finish in the bathroom and join him. He knows damn well that’s Lucas-speak for ‘try not to be so handsy with my ex-girlfriend while I’m at your house this time.’ As if they’d behave _like that_ at a celebratory lunch for the old man they love and respect so much.

He looks up as she appears in the bathroom doorway, hair flowing over her shoulders, wearing just her typical night-time attire boy cut underwear and a tank top. A tiny little tank top. A tiny little strappy tank top. He watches appreciatively as she approaches the bed, hoping she’ll straddle him and tease him the way he loves for her to do.

“What?” she chuckles as she recognises his look of anticipation.

“You’re so hot,” he grins, shaking his head.

“That’s _not_ what you were thinking,” she accuses lightly, as she fulfils what he was hoping for, throwing a long limb over him and settling on his hips, bringing her hands to rest lightly on his bare chest.

“Caught,” he shrugs.

“What _were_ you thinking?”

“Oh, you know … just the normal,” he teases, flattening his palms over her breasts, rotating them a little to make her nipples tighten.  
“The _normal_?” she says archly, running her fingertips lightly, teasingly, around his own nipples before drawing lines slowly down to where the sheet is bunched at his waist.  
“I was just hoping you’d waltz in here in a teeny little strappy top, throw one of those luscious legs over me, perch your sexy ass on my hips, tease me a little …”

“How much is a little?” she flirts, moving her knees wider so she can press into him, grinding down, arching her back just a little.

“A little more than that,” he answers, slipping his hands behind her and cupping her ass while he pushes up against her.

She rotates her hips slowly, lazily, holding his gaze with her hooded green eyes, then slowly moves her hands to rest on her own thighs, closes her eyes, arches her back more, grinds and rotates, makes like she’s ignoring him, drifting into her own little world, as if he’s merely her implement. 

He lets her go for a bit, watching her, taking in her long, lean form, his breath hitching when he realises that despite her intent to just make fun of him for a bit, she’s actually getting really turned on. The pulse at her neck is visible, her back’s arching more, her throat’s curving gracefully back making that long mane of hair cascade right down her back. He smiles a little when he sees her fingers tighten on the skin of her own thigh: she’s dying to be touched; for him to touch her, or maybe even to touch herself, the thought of which makes his stomach knot and his heart thump in his chest.

He lazily moves his hands from behind her and hears her breath catch in anticipation. But he’s on to her, and it’s his turn to tease. He moves his hands not to where she clearly wants them to be but places them behind his neck and moves as if he’s merely stretching but thrusts his hips up into her just a little. Her eyes fly open and narrow when he merely raises an eyebrow in question, his eyes dark with lust but still sparkling with the joke.

“What?” he asks innocently, faking a yawn to go with that fake stretch.

“Oh _sweetie_,” she says, instantly concerned and ever so sweet, “you’re really _tired_.” She fluidly removes her tank top, leaving her topless and making his mouth drop open, slips lightly off him and stretches languidly beside him. “I’ll stop teasing and let you sleep,” she continues innocently.

“What?” he exclaims, turning to his side and reaching for her, before realising she’s completely busted him. “Damn,” he mutters, “you’re good.”

“Why, yes, I _am_,” she says, reaching to push the sheet off his lower half and admire the results of her movements. “In fact, it appears I am _very_ good.”

“You’re a tease,” he complains good naturedly.  
“But,” she says with mock confusion, running her fingertip lightly up his length before pulling her hand away, “I thought that’s what you were _hoping_ for?”

“Point taken,” he grins, rolling swiftly to pin her to the mattress, leaning on one elbow, the other hand caressing her hip, pushing the fabric of her underwear down and out of the way. “And what are _you_ hoping for, Sawyer? You hoping for me to tease you a little, too?”

“No,” she breathes.

“No?” he asks, dipping his hand lower, his masterful fingers doing a little grinding and rotating of their own. “No teasing?”

“Oh,” she sighs, her fingers toying with his earlobes, her eyelids fluttering. “Maybe just a little.”

“Like this?” he rumbles near her ear as two of his fingers find their way home.

“Nathan …” his name is forced out of her in the form of a low moan.  
“Babe …” he mocks her lightly.

“I … can you … oh!” she protests as he removes the source of her delight.  
“Oh, you _so_ want more than a little … teasing,” he notes, pulling back a little to sweep his eyes over her, while reaching to the night stand for the necessary protection.

She pulls his head down, stops his words with a deep, intense kiss that makes him feel like his bones are turning to liquid, then lazily wraps a leg around his hips and pulls his body into hers.

“I was hoping no more teasing tonight,” she murmurs against his shoulder, then throws her head back as he trails his lips and tongue up her throat.

“What _are_ you hoping for?” he smiles at her, taking a moment to tenderly push her hair back, admiring the coppery colour against his white linens. She presses her heel into the small of his back, urging his hips closer and closer yet, until he complies and surges powerfully into her, bucking his hips, eliciting a gasp and an appreciative moan from her. “Oh,” he says knowingly against her lips, pausing in his movements, “you were hoping for _that_?”

“Nate,” she pleads.  
“Mmmm?” he groans, moving to take his weight on his forearms, to twist his fingers into that glorious hair, feeling her press her hips to him, a second heel at his back, the silky skin of her inner thighs against him.

“Nathan,” she moans again, as she feels the tension in his muscles as he pulls back a little, focussing, gathering, preparing to surge again. “I need to feel you.”

Her unbridled urgency drives him into her, all light teasing and jest forgotten as he loses himself in his rhythm, and hers. They’re perfectly in synch. Lips, tongues, eyelashes. He can’t, won’t, move his fingers from the magical strands of her hair, but her fingers and palms are everywhere he wants -_ needs_ \- them to be.

He wants her fingers dancing on his biceps and they’re there. He wants the heels of her hands digging up beneath his ribcage and they’re there. He wants her palms slipping over the sweat on his abs and they’re there. He wants her thumb and forefinger tweaking at his nipples just a little, just a little pain to pull him back from the edge, so he can feel the power of building again, and they’re there. He wants her arms wrapped tight around his head, and they’re there, trapping his face against her breasts while his lips suction on to her breast and she moans her passion-fuelled demands huskily, musically in his ear. “Now. God, Nathan. Now. More. More. Oh God. Holy …”

He collapses on her. Completely spent. Tries to move off her so as not to crush her, but she holds him tight. He loves this. Loves the way she looks so fragile but is strong beyond belief. Loves the way, even though she should feel crushed, that she needs to feel that weight just a little longer. Loves the way she doesn’t stop moving, the way she brings him down from his high with non-stop tiny caresses and touches. While she’s caressing him down with her hands and her legs, a random thought occurs to him from nowhere.

“What was that supermodel thing?” he asks lazily against her cheek, making her giggle.

“Oh, apparently, you’re shacked up with a … what was it … _freakily gorgeous copper haired supermodel_.”  
“Says who?”  
“Says the town. Skills and Bev came to investigate the rumours.”

“Oh well,” he grins, moving to lie next to her, pulling her close against him, his hands making a slow trail over her hip and thigh.

“Oh well?”

“Rumours confirmed, I guess,” he says, making her roll her eyes at the compliment.

“Well, freaky anyway,” she replies drily.

“Freaky enough to go again?” he suggests hopefully, but, in truth, expecting just another eye roll. To his surprise, and very great pleasure, she holds his gaze, slowly brings herself to a seated position, then gracefully moves to straddle his hips. He raises an eyebrow and, when she raises one right back, he slowly moves his hands to behind his head, makes that fake stretch move again, tips his hips up into her a little.

“Original much?” she says drily, then leans forward, her hair falling about her face in a curtain that trails over his chest as she slowly, slowly, teasingly begins to kiss her way down his body.

“Peyt …”  
“Hush now,” she interrupts him with a promising wink. “My turn to do the … _hard_ … work.”


	13. Happy Birthday, Coach Durham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey you,” she calls. “Thought you’d done a runner on your hosting duties. You okay?”  
He goes straight to her and wraps his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. He speaks quietly near her ear.  
“Haley just took a run at me.”  
“What’s she got to be pissed at you about?” she asks lightly. “You’ve been totally accommodating with her changes of plans.”  
“Not that kind of run."

It’s surprising to her, maybe not so much to him, how easily they fall into whatever this is. They’re not pretending, not avoiding, not denying, not _anything_ really. They’re just being in the moment, in the moment that is this long, hot (in more ways than one) summer.

They’re sharing the master bedroom, which she thought she’d find awkward, but doesn’t. She’d moved her clothes into his closet and her toiletries into his ensuite bathroom one evening after Annie was settled, a couple of days after the conversation with Jamie. The teenager was out that night with his mates and was dropped off late. When he’d come strolling into his father’s room the next morning, he’d found Nathan lying awake, and Peyton still asleep and curled into his father’s side. He’d stood silently in the doorway and raised his eyebrows.

“New rule, Dad?” he’d suggested quietly. “Maybe start closing your bedroom door. And …” he’d brought his hand up and mimed a door knocking movement. “I might just start knocking,” he’d added cheekily.

Nathan had shaken his handsome head but refused to be embarrassed. He was proud of the way he talked openly with his son about relationships. His own father had been forthright for sure, but somehow Dan’s conversations had always bordered on pervy, and Nathan certainly had no recollections of honesty, openness and respect being part of Dan’s vocabulary. He knew he had Haley, the _first few years’_ version of Haley, to thank for that. And, maybe, also the later version of the gorgeous woman curled into his side. The version that was his friend, his _best _friend for the last year of high school, and when she came back to Tree Hill after years in LA. He preferred not to think about the fact that _that_ version could have been his sister in law but for one seven lettered word from her and one incredibly immature reaction from his brother.

Jamie had tipped his chin in that universal male greeting and turned to go.

“Jamie?”  
“Yeah, Dad?”  
“You’re really okay with this?”

Jamie had nodded, and taken a step away, then turned back.

“I really like them Dad. Peyton _and_ Annie. A lot. And …”  
“And?”

“I like the way they fit with us,” the boy had said simply before he left the doorway.

_Me too_, Nathan had thought. _Me too._

Around the beach house they don’t put their_ relationship_ \- for want of a better noun she thinks whenever she finds herself using that word in her head - on blatant, inappropriate daytime display in front of Jamie.

But there is certainly no shortage of ‘teenage-audience-appropriate’ affection; he kisses her on the temple or on her shoulder blade when he delivers a coffee or, still only occasionally, _a half of a small glass_ of wine. She tousles his hair or presses her palm to his bicep for a moment, when she passes him a beer or a plate, or her precious _getting bigger by the day_ daughter.

He presses his hips into her briefly when she’s standing at the kitchen counter stacking the dishwasher, or making a meal or, which earns him a reproachful look and a slap that makes him laugh, when she’s talking to her father on the phone.

She finds herself completely uninhibited with her responses when he asks her about what he’s begun to teasingly call the _Nathan-less years_. (His first attempt, the _Scott-less years_, had earned him a rebuke that would have made a sailor blush, and the assertion that there were some Scotts that she really hadn’t missed, thank you very much. He’d merely said at least she’d missed the best one. Yeah,_ Jamie_, she’d teased.) His interest in her last few years is genuine. Her responses likewise. No walls, no guarded half answers. He shakes his head admiringly when she tells him the story of how her career as an illustrator was launched.

“What?” she asks, bemused by his incredulous look as she’s finishing her tale while they sit at the breakfast bar one morning.

“So, let me get this straight,” he says, still half disbelieving. “You’re on some tiny little ferry off the coast of Scotland going to some obscure little island, with your Dad?”  
“Uh-huh,” she confirms.

“And some bratty little toad gets seasick and pukes on you?”  
“Well, right next to me, not _on _me,” she corrects him with a grimace, “but yeah, close enough, I guess.”  
“And instead of throwing the little shit overboard, you sit there and draw him pictures of whatever the hell he wants so that you distract him from the rough seas?”  
“Well, yeah. Wouldn’t you? I mean, if you could draw better than a four-year-old, that is?” she teases.

“Oh, you’re funny,” he declares. “And no, even if I could draw like … like …” he searches for a name. “Michelangelo!” he declares triumphantly. “Even if I could draw like Michelangelo, I would not entertain a kid that puked right next to me.”

“Well, stupid me,_ I_ did,” she says with a teasingly superior tone, “which is why_ I_ got to launch a whole new career as an illustrator of children’s books, sophisticated children’s books at that, I’ll have you know, when the bratty pukey kid’s travelling companion turned out to be his uncle, who happened to be the Senior Editor at England’s most prestigious publisher of children’s books. _So there!_ And, _furthermore_,” she says, standing and walking past him, swatting him on the ass as she does so, “yes, I _am_ funny, thank you very much.”

“Not to mention far more accomplished in the kitchen than you used to be.”  
“Um. Okay,” she answers, spinning around to face him again. “What’s with the out of context praise of my culinary abilities?”  
“We’re supposed to be hosting a birthday lunch for Whitey tomorrow. Remember volunteering us for that? And I have no freaking clue what to do.”

“Meh,” she shrugs easily, “Haley’s got desserts, Brooke’s got drinks. We do platters or yummy deli nibbles while everyone’s arriving and getting settled, then build your own gourmet burgers.”  
“Burgers?”

“Absolutely. You BBQ steak and chicken. I’ll toast buns and have dishes of all the trimmings; lettuce, tomatoes … oh ... you should do eggs and onions on the BBQ too … um ... lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, pickles.” She pauses, thinking. “Nice aioli, nice relish, ketchup for the peasants. Oh … and beets.”

“Beets?” he asks, making a gagging gesture.

“Totally. It’s a Kiwi thing.”  
“Kiwi?”  
“New Zealand. They call it beetroot and they put sliced pickled beetroot on burgers. It’s amazing.”  
“You’re seriously weird, girl,” he laughs. “And … how do you even know that?”  
“Um ... that’s another long story from the Larry Sawyer and daughter travelogue.”

“Short version?” he asks, intrigued.

“When we first took off on our travels, we went to New Zealand and … um … stayed with Karen and Andy for a few days?”

She says it with a question at the end, a little shamefaced, not really understanding why she thinks he may react badly to that. He doesn’t. He tips his head back and roars with laughter.

“Ohmigod,” he declares, wiping tears from the laughter off his cheeks. “_That_ is irony! Please don’t let that slip to my dumbass brother unless I’m there to see it.”

He stands from his barstool, grabbing his keys from the bowl on the counter.

“Where are you off to?” she asks, puzzled by his sudden move.

“Grocery store. Supplies for tomorrow.”  
“No,” she says, quickly, reaching out to stop him. “I’ll go a little later. I want to get something new to wear.”

“Yeah?”  
“Yeah. I need something a little nicer for this. It’s Whitey, after all.”  
“Awesome,” he says lobbing the keys behind his back and straight into the bowl, where they make a massive clanging noise. “I hate the grocery store.”

The next day, however, he discovers he _loves_ the navy sundress she buys while she’s out going to the grocery store. He loves the way it has a modest looking front yet dips just below her shoulder blades at the back. He loves the way the light fabric swirls above her knees as she’s rushing about, arranging the table and chairs out on the deck. He loves the way she draws in her breath when he flicks the thin strap off her shoulder as he walks past her when he goes to put up a couple of large umbrellas as protection from the sun. Oh yeah, and he_ really_ loves the fact that those straps are too thin for her to wear a bra. He tells her so, and she both blushes and freaks out that the dress isn’t appropriate after all.

“You look amazing,” he assures her.

“But … if … maybe I should …”  
He studies her flustered demeanour and shakes his head at her.

“Your dress is entirely appropriate,” he says, with a kiss to her temple. “It’s not obvious about the bra thing.”  
“I … it has a layer thingy built in,” she says almost shyly. “I thought …”  
“You look gorgeous. No one will even …”  
“_You_ did!”

“Uh-huh,” he grins, “but I’m the only one looking at you like that. Or I better be …”

She rolls her eyes and mumbles something like who else would.

“Other than my brother?” he teases. “And Skills, and …”  
“Shut up! Skills is totally blissed out with his Baby Mama Bevin. And your … uurggh!”

“My uurggh?”  
“I swear, if your brother looks at me even a little bit the wrong way, I’ll …”

“You could take him,” he laughs. “Can I watch?”

“Perv.”  
“Totally. And,” he says, grabbing her wrist and pulling her in and dropping a quick peck on her pursed lips, “don’t stress about the dress!”

The doorbell rings, swiftly followed by Brooke’s voice calling out, then it’s a rapid flurry of arrivals, arranging drinks, ushering people out to the deck, hurriedly finding a small side table on which gifts for Coach Durham can be placed.

When the guest of honour arrives, he looks a little overwhelmed at the gathering, then shakes his head to bring himself back to the moment. He greets each of them in turn, embracing several of them, including Nathan, and protesting a little when he sees the collection of brightly wrapped gifts on the table.

“This is … too much,” he says, shaking his head again.

“It’s just enough,” Peyton says as she joins the group from inside, wheeling Annie - strapped into Jamie’s old highchair - in front of her.

“Well, well … if it isn’t Miss Not-So-Blondie Sawyer.”

“Coach Durham. Happy birthday. It’s so nice to see you.”

She goes to shake his hand but he’s having none of that and pulls her in for a long hug.

“And a happy birthday to your dear Mom too, huh?” he says with a kind wink as she pulls away from his fatherly embrace.

“You remembered.”

“Memory like an elephant. Just about as wrinkly as one too these days. And who is this little missy?” he asks, turning his kindly eyes to Annie.

“Coach Durham,” Peyton grins, “I’d like you to meet Anne Elizabeth, Annie to our friends.”

“Hello Annie,” he chuckles, leaning in to give her a big juicy wink. “Aren’t you a beauty?”

Annie looks at him, then to her Mom, who nods her reassurance, then Annie claps her hands together and turns her beaming smile on the old man.

“Well … be still my beating heart,” he laughs. “I think I might have to request that I have the pleasure of Miss Anne Elizabeth’s company next to me at the table.”

Peyton gestures to the empty seat at the head of the table and trundles the high chair in the same direction, happy to leave her daughter in the company of Brooke, who is sitting handily, and the man who, after all, was entrusted with shepherding Jenny Jagielski to safety so many years ago. Then back to her hostessing duties she goes, spending the next hour or so flitting from group to group, making sure the platters of delicious nibbles are out of the sun and replenished periodically; topping up drinks and jugs of cool water; placing a tube of sunscreen into Bevin’s hands and telling her not to get burnt … and generally running the show like a pro.

She hears titbits of conversation as she moves about:

_“I … Lucas,” from Haley in a strained sounding voice._

_“Haley,” a cool, noncommittal response, followed by both of them turning on their respective heels and walking to opposite end of the deck._

_“Geeze, Nathan, you could’ve warned me Haley would be here.” Lucas berating Nathan as the two stand at the BBQ grill just beyond the kitchen window, as Nathan’s laying out the burger patties and chicken on the grill and she’s at the kitchen counter, arranging napkins and cutlery and condiments on a tray, in readiness for the burgers._

_“Look. I’ll tell you exactly the same thing I told her. This is for Whitey. Pull your head in and be civil to each other for a few hours for his sake. And yeah. I could’ve warned you, but I didn’t. Sorry about that. Not.”_

_“She’s just so …”_

_“You know what?” Nathan interrupts his brother, gesturing at Lucas with the BBQ tongs. “Here’s something just for you, Lucas. Whether or not you two can be in a room together and look each other in the eye is really not my concern or my problem. You brought it on yourselves. And if you’re each still blaming the other and not taking any responsibility after all this time then that is just a bit sad in my opinion. Right now, all I care about is that old man who did more for me than my own father, and probably more for you too, so grow up.”_

Lucas clearly doesn’t enjoy being lectured and he retreats to where Skills and Bevin are entertaining Whitey with tales of the European trip. Not long later, Brooke spots Nathan alone at the barbecue, with an empty beer bottle beside him, and wanders over, taking him a fresh beer.

“You’re a champ, Davis.”

“Well, you’re feeding me, Hotshot,” she replies chirpily. “And it’s a perfect day for a cold beer. None of that healthy juicing, salads and detoxing crap today.”

“Speaking of … how’s that _sex_ detox working for you?” he asks cheekily.

“Geeze, Nathan,” she groans. “I’m climbing the freaking walls!”

He laughs and she joins in after a moment.

“Seriously!” she exclaims. “Maybe I should change it to a _boy _detox and go find a nice _girl!_”

“Sounds hot to me,” he chuckles, turning over a couple of sizzling burger patties.

“Hotshot,” she sighs. “I just want what you and P. have. Is that too much to ask?”

“What? A summer fling?” he laughs. “I thought that’s the kind of thing you were swearing off?”

“Just a summer fling?” she asks coyly, eyebrow raised, digger her elbow into his side a little.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, pausing to look at her. “You know the deal.”

“Nathan Scott! For all your growth and wisdom and self-knowledge and shit that you’ve done … if you actually believe that crap about this being just a summer fling, you’re an idiot.”

“Brooke …” he warns, suddenly very interested in turning the rest of the burger patties on the BBQ. She grabs his chin and hauls his face around to examine him.

“Well, well,” she says with a knowing chuckle, “you want more.”

“What? No, I …”  
“It’s okay, Hotshot,” she demurs, patting his forearm reassuringly. “Your secret’s safe with me. Question is, what are you gonna do about it?”  
“Look, Brooke, it’s … just leave it.”

“How do we turn lots of hot Sawyer Scott sex into a long-term relationship?” she muses.

“Hmmm,” he mumbles.

“Hmmm? What does that ...? Aaah,” she says, realisation dawning. “Are you saying _not so much_ hot Sawyer Scott sex? Why? You two have got like ridiculous chemistry.”

“There’s a baby and a teenager in the house, Brooke.”

She merely raises a perfect eyebrow at him and waits.

“It’s not a lack of chemistry,” he concedes. “It’s lack of opportunity … for the last few days anyway.”  
“Well there’s always the old afternoon delight, when bubs is asleep,” she says with a cheeky grin. He looks her straight in the eye, and, after a few seconds of him waiting, quite pointedly, she hits her own forehead. “There isn’t afternoon delight,” she says apologetically, “because stupid me has been here all afternoon, _every_ afternoon for the last few days.”

“Brooke, it’s fine,” he assures her. She stares him down though, and he grins his lopsided grin and shrugs. “Fine,” he admits. “It’s _not_ fine. Happy now?”  
“I’ll make it up to you,” she gushes. “I’ve suddenly remembered that I’m going to be very busy for the next few days and … oh! I’ve got a great idea! I’ll invite P for a flash dinner on Wednesday night.”  
“And exactly how is Sawyer going out for dinner with _you_ helping my sex life?”

“I didn’t say dinner with me, you numbskull.”  
“She won’t agree to a dinner date with me. At least …” he stops and thinks. “At least, I don’t _think _she will.”  
“Leave it with me. Hey! P. Sawyer!” she yells, spotting the woman in question across the deck. “Book a flash dinner in for Wednesday night.”

“What? Why?”  
“Special occasion.”  
“Okay. I need to …”  
“Don’t worry about a sitter. All sorted,” Brooke interrupts, tipping her head sideways towards Nathan.

Peyton looks at him, makes the logical assumption, and smiles her thanks.

“Davis …” he begins.

“Hush and listen up,” she says, her eyes sparkling merrily, then she launches into providing him with a few more details of her plan.

After his grilling duties are complete, the chicken and burger patties keeping warm in the oven while Peyton and Brooke lay out rest of the food, Nathan takes a minute to head upstairs to the bathroom. When he comes out, he’s more than a little surprised to find Haley standing in the middle of his bedroom. Can he call it his _and Peyton’s_ bedroom? he wonders before he notices that Haley looks a little anxious and is wringing her hands in the way she always used to when she wanted to tackle something big with him.

“Haley,” he says flatly. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“Nathan!”

“Why does it sound like you’re pissed at me, Haley?”  
“You never told me Lucas would be here,” she whines. “I didn’t even know he was in town.”

“Look Haley,” he says with what he can hear is an exasperated tone, “this is about Whitey’s 75th birthday. And to be frank, if I can stand to have the pair of you in my home, then you can stand to be polite to each other for a few hours.”

“You could have warned me,” she chides.

“Sure, I guess I could have done that,” he concedes lightly. “But then I guess you could have done that a few years ago too, couldn’t you? Which is the worse sin?”

“Are you ever going to forgive me?” she asks mournfully.

“I did that a long time ago now, Haley,” he replies in a tone that sounds, to his own ears, like boredom. She doesn’t hear it that way.

“You did? Nathan, that’s such a relief to me,” she smiles warmly, taking a step towards him, making him step back.

“Okay. So … good. I need to get back ...”

He goes to move off, but she reaches out and grabs his hand, holding it between her own.

“You can take a few minutes off your hosting duties, I’m sure?” she says softly, stroking his forearm, with her other hand.

“What are you doing?” he asks, wrestling his arm from her grip and stepping away.

“Nathan. You said you forgive me,” she wheedles.

“And?”

“Well. And I miss you,” she smiles. “I’ve missed you for years. I thought maybe we could talk about …”

“Talk about what?” he frowns, having a fairly good idea of where she’s going. _Like hell,_ is all he can think.

“Well ... you know ...”

“No. I don’t know.”

“_Reconciling_,” she smiles as if they’re sharing a secret. “Jamie would be so thrilled.”

“I really don’t bear you any ill will anymore. It’s ancient history now. But _reconciling_? Why would I do that? I’m incredibly happy with how things are. And so’s Jamie, so don’t try and use his welfare and happiness to persuade me that us being together again would be a good thing.”

“But Nathan,” she persists, taking his hand again. “We were good for so long. We were_ such_ a great couple. Everyone said so. We can have that bliss again.”

He withdraws his hand more forcefully and steps further back, considering how he can respond to her words.

“Let me show you something, Haley,” he eventually says, as he goes to the walk-in closet and opens the door, gesturing for her to come and look.

“You kept some of my …?”

She’s smiling that secret little smile she used to use when she was about to seduce him. He observes it as if from a great distance and finds that twinkle in her eye that used to start his heart racing and his stomach fluttering now leaves him absolutely cold.

“I want you to look at this closet,” he states, arms folded over his chest.

She steps over to see Nathan’s clothes neatly hung on one side, and a completely coordinated and good-looking wardrobe it is too, she notes. He’s clearly had some input there. And on the other side, not a huge number of women’s garments, but enough. And they’re not hers.

“Nathan?” she asks beseechingly. “What is this? What are you showing me? Whose clothes are these?”

“_I_ do have that bliss again, Haley. It took me a long time, but I have moved on and I am very, very happy. Maybe more than ever.”

“How long?”

“Recent.”

“It’s new? So … not established and maybe as you get to know her better, she won’t suit you.”

“Recent doesn’t mean I don’t know her,” he argues. “Trust me, I know her. And she knows me better than anyone else I know.”

“How is that even possible, Nathan?” she asks, sounding wounded. Like she has any legitimate entitlement to that. “We spent _years _together. How can she possibly know you better than me? I was your _wife_. I’m the mother of your child.”

“Exactly,” he says firmly. “You _were _my wife. You’re not anymore. I’ll _never_ be thrilled about the _way_ you came to be my ex-wife. But the fact is that you are, and I don’t have any problem with you not being my wife anymore, Haley. And if you knew me at all, you’d know that after what I walked in on that day, while I may have got to a point where I’ve let it go and forgiven you, I would _never_ put myself in a position where I’d be open to that again.”

“But you _wouldn’t_ be,” she cries. “It would never happen again. It was all Lucas’ ...”

“What? Lucas’ _fault_? Yeah. That’s what you said then too. And that complete inability to man up and accept responsibility is why I didn’t think twice about filing for the divorce. Until you stop believing that it was all his fault, there’s no hope for you. And I’m sorry, but there’s no hope for you and me regardless.”

“Because you’ve got some new chicky-babe with,” she looks scathingly into the closet, “a teenager’s taste in clothing? Does she wear anything except jeans, shorts and tank tops?”

“Still as judgemental as ever, Haley,” he scoffs. “I really don’t miss _that_; you know? If you must know, that’s just a few things for the summer. The rest of her stuff’s in storage … for now.”

“For now?” she asks acerbically. “Until you move it in here? With you?”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” he agrees, realising as he says it and recalling Brooke’s insightful comment, that yeah, that_ is_ what he’s thinking. “And you know what? She looks fucking _amazing_ in jeans, shorts and tanks ... so I really don’t care if that’s all she ever wears.”

He starts heading towards the doorway, then stops and turns back, looking her right in the eyes.

“But just so you know, Hales, in a navy-blue sundress, she’s also_ the_ most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

And he’s gone. Haley stands for a moment, confused, then realisation dawns.

Navy blue sundress.

Peyton.

As he leaves the bedroom, he feels quite rattled, not to mention pissed at himself for letting himself be goaded into telling Haley about Peyton. It was none of her business. He shouldn’t have said it. But in the small amount of time it takes him to get downstairs (or maybe it’s because as he’s descending the staircase, the girl in the navy-blue sundress is to be seen in the kitchen, grabbing the last of the dishes of burger trimmings, and _damn_ she looks great in his kitchen, or anywhere in his house, really) he feels the anger dissipating and the calm ascending as if he’s walking down steps into a tepid pool of it.

She looks up as she hears his footsteps and her smile from across the space literally makes his heart leap. Yup. He’s going to have to consider those thoughts he has about her shipping the rest of her stuff and moving it in; more to the point, he’s going to have to consider how he gets her to share those thoughts.

“Hey you,” she calls. “Thought you’d done a runner on your hosting duties. You okay?”

He goes straight to her and wraps his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. He speaks quietly near her ear.

“Haley just took a run at me.”

“What’s she got to be pissed at you about?” she asks lightly. “You’ve been totally accommodating with her changes of plans.”

“Not that kind of run,” he explains.

She’s puzzled for a moment then realises what he means. He can feel her body tense, but he really isn’t sure if that’s good thing or a bad one.

“Right,” she says with understanding. “A ‘run at you’ run. So, she what? Followed you upstairs and got all touchy-feely with the merchandise?

“Waiting in the bedroom when I came out of the bathroom,” he confirms. “Thankfully not too touchy-feely though.”

“Oooooo-kaaaaay.”

“Are you freaking out?” he asks almost hopefully. Freaking out would imply possessiveness. Possessiveness would imply … the possibility of something beyond the end of summer. And yet, not the time or the place to push that agenda.

“I’m not sure I’m entitled to freak out, am I?”

“Sure, you are. Ex-wife plus guy who wasn’t exactly the most faithful of boyfriends to you plus close encounter in bedroom equals right to freak out in any equation.”

“I meant ...”

“I know what you meant,” he interrupts. “If we’re _just a summer thing_, then do you have the right to get antsy about this?”

“You are constantly surprising me at how you get all this stuff,” she says, shaking her head a little. “Now Greg … I’d have had to spell it out for him letter by letter.”

“Which is why it is a very good thing that you are with me and not that doofus, Greg. And yes, you are entitled to get antsy because even if it is _just a_ _summer thing_, it’s an _exclusive_ summer thing. I wouldn’t …”

She turns within his arms and looks directly into those blue eyes.

“I know that, Nathan. But if it was a reconciliation situation, and if that’s what you wanted long term …”

“You know that’s the same word she used,” he comments gently. “Reconciliation. And I’ll tell you exactly what I told her. I would never even consider going back. And I am very, _very_ happy with my current arrangement.”

“And did you tell her what that _arrangement_ is?” she asks, the thought popping into her head that he may have done just that.  
“I let her know it’s you,” he admits. “Nothing more specific.”

“Well ... I guess if we’re messing with your brother’s head then messing with your ex-wife’s is …”

“Hey! Come on,” he protests immediately. “That’s not what this is ... not anymore.”

“I know,” she says, reassuring him instantly. “Hey! I know that! I just meant … added bonus? So … anything in particular you want me to do or say if she approaches me?”

“Nope. I doubt she will; she always had a thing about you anyway. But given that just about everyone here knows anyway, what I really want is for you to kiss me.”

“We’ll talk later about that ‘she had a thing about me’ comment, thank you. And no kissing because we said we’d be good.”

“Just a little one?” he asks with a coy grin.

“Nathan Scott, I’m not sure we’re even capable of little kisses.”

“But I’m traumatised after the big, bad ex-wifey put her hands on me,” he pouts. “I need you to make me feel better.”

She runs her hands up his biceps to his shoulders.

“Trust me, you feel plenty good enough, hotshot,” she flirts mildly. “I really need to get back out there with this food or there’ll be no trimmings to go with those awesome looking burgers you cooked.”

“Just a little wee one?”

“You’re a big baby.”

“Happy to admit it if it’s working,” he says winningly, wriggling his eyebrows at her and puckering up ridiculously.

“It’s working,” she says with an accompanying eye roll. “But a _very_ little one.”

She kisses him softly, gently, laughs into his mouth as he tries to deepen it, and pushes him back, still laughing. Picking up the platter, she kisses him on the cheek.

“To be continued … if you behave yourself,” she cautions.

He stops her walking past him and drops a kiss on her forehead.

“With an incentive like that, I promise I’ll be good.”

But that doesn’t stop him slapping her behind as she walks past. Damn he loves that sundress.

“Get the meat out of the oven!” she yells at him with a flash of her eyes.

After the ‘build your own burger’ feast dishes are cleared away, and Nathan teasing her about how much ‘beetroot’ is left over, Peyton begins to amass plates and cutlery for dessert, and to put the beautiful looking gateau and baked cheesecake that Haley brought onto plates. As she’s considering how to move the decadent chocolate cake from the box to the plate without completely destroying it, Haley joins her in the kitchen.

“Haley! Great. Your cake; can you move it on to the serving plate? I’m afraid I’ll tip it over and ruin it.”

“Well, not really my cake. I didn’t stop to think when I said I’d bring dessert that I can’t really bake in a hotel room. I guess store bought is okay.”

“It’s more than okay,” Peyton says cheerily. “These both look amazing. They’re from that new place down by the pier, aren’t they? I’ve heard such good things about it. Ooh, I should organise coffee things too.”

She starts bringing together mugs, spoons, a jug of milk, fills and turns on the kettle, grinds enough coffee for two large presses. She rounds the kitchen counter back to the living room side, quickly counts the mugs on the handled tray and prepares to lift it to carry outside, then becomes aware that Haley has stopped and is eyeing her appraisingly.

“You okay, Haley?” she asks with a small feeling of foreboding in her chest.

“So, were you sleeping with him while he was married to me?” the shorter woman asks aggressively.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nathan,” Haley bites out impatiently, as if Peyton is being slow on the uptake rather than simply shocked. “Were you sleeping with him when he and I were together?”

Peyton shakes her head, not believing what she’s hearing, but she really doesn’t know what to say. Of all the things to be accused of. Of all the people to accuse her. She’s still opening and closing her mouth without being able to utter a word, when she feels his hand on her shoulder.

“Babe, can you take that tray outside? I’ll bring the coffee pots as soon as the kettle’s boiled. There’s a couple out there that are a little worse for wear; strong coffee needed asap.”

She flashes him a questioning look. He smiles reassuringly and bends in to touch his lips to hers momentarily in a gesture that shouts out comfortable and contented to anyone that might be watching. Especially to the other woman who _is_ watching.

“I got this,” he murmurs. She nods and heads out with the tray, throwing a slightly anxious look over her should as she exits the house onto the deck. He faces Haley, arms crossed over his chest.

“You’ve got a nerve, you know,” he accuses. “Asking her that.”

Haley looks mortified to have been overheard but is nevertheless defiant.

“Nathan, I ...”

“No,” he says, raising his palm up. “You’re not talking. You’re listening. And if you interrupt me, I’ll start shouting and everyone out on that deck will hear this. Got it?”

She nods, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously.

“That woman has never, ever put a step wrong with me. Other than that stupid boy toy auction thing at high school where the rules said a kiss at midnight, and when I admitted I’d always have a nostalgic sort of soft spot for her, which I told you _the very same night _anyway, there was never a single momentary thing between her and I after I started dating you. And _absolutely_ not when you and I were married. I don’t how many times I went over that with you when we were together and I sure as hell shouldn’t be having to go over it again now.”

“You’re together though so …”  
“Neither of us sought the other one out. We hadn’t seen sight nor sound of each other for years. We bumped into each other in an airport for goodness sake. When I was coming home from bringing Jamie to you, actually. We reconnected as friends first. Everything else came later.”

He drags his hand through his hair, then rests both palms flat on the counter and straightens his arms as he looks at her dead on.

“I don’t owe you an explanation, Haley. And Peyton certainly doesn’t. But, just maybe, I’m finally understanding why you ended up having that affair with Luke. If you’re still carrying around this insane envy of Peyton, then clearly you were more insecure than I ever realised. I really don’t think I could have done anything more to reassure you back then. Or maybe deep down in some weird, twisted revenge thing, you wanted Luke ‘cos you wanted what she’d had, because you _thought_ she still had a piece of me. She didn’t. Not then. Nothing more than my affection as a friend and my respect because she always acted with kindness, and dignity and … and grace. Which are things you used to have too, Haley. But you don’t seem to have them anymore.”

He moves around the counter to pour water into the waiting coffee presses, pops the plunger tops on and picks them up to take them outside.

“Word of advice, Haley,” he adds as he pauses next to her, coffee pots in hand. “Put your happy face on, take the desserts outside, make like you’re enjoying yourself, then leave. Make one more off colour remark to Peyton today and I will take great pleasure in throwing you out on your ass, regardless of whether or not our son will see it. And for the rest of your stay in Tree Hill, when you see Jamie, I’ll bring him to you. You’re not welcome in my home until you learn to behave like a grown up.”

To her credit, Haley does a bang-up job of serving desserts with a smile and some cheery comments, perhaps helped by Whitey standing and calling for everyone’s attention, with the help of his old whistle, which he pulls out of his trouser pocket. When he blows it forcefully and its shrill peel cuts through the chatter, he gets a good laugh.

“Well,” he says, “I hope you’ll indulge an old man celebrating his birthday and let me say a few words.”

Of course, there’s a chorus of agreement and he continues in his usual indomitable style.

“Let me say a couple of thank yous first. To Skills and Bevin for crossing the road last weekend when they spotted me and having a good old chat. It’s nice to know I didn’t put so much fear into you kids that you’d run a mile when you see me in the street. And it was very nice of you both to suggest this little shindig for my three quarters of a century.”

There’s a few claps and cheers at that.

“And a big thank you to Nathan opening up his home for this and for manning that barbeque like a real pro. It’s a beautiful spot. And maybe this little party isn’t quite as … aahh … let’s say _legendary_,” he settles on the word with a wink, “as some of the ones I heard about in your Sophomore and Junior years but it’s plenty of action for me.”

Nathan holds up his glass in tribute to the Coach and says he’s more than welcome.

“And to you, Miss Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer,” the coach continues, turning to gaze fondly at Peyton. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you when I first arrived. I’ve always been delighted to share my birthday with your Mom, and when I see how you’ve grown up, and how graciously you’ve hosted this lunch, with just the right touches everywhere, well ... I know she’d be as proud of you, and your super little girl, as I am.”

Peyton wipes a couple of tears away and smiles her thanks.

“So … you were a pretty special bunch of kids, you lot. And it’s gratifying to see so many of you doing so well with your careers and becoming such fine people. I’m very glad to have been a part of your lives, and I’m very glad that you all have been part of today. So, thank you for coming and now ... let’s get stuck into this beautiful looking dessert.”

When they’ve all gone, and Nathan and Peyton are slowly tidying the last things away, she suddenly stops and considers him with a long stare.

“What?” he asks eventually.

“What did you mean Haley had an issue with me?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says with a wave of his hand. “It’s fine.”  
“No,” she insists. “Why would she have had an issue with me? I mean … she can have an issue now if she wants; I really don’t care. She did this to herself. But … back then … why? I mean ... there was no reason …”

“Look,” he says, “she was … just insecure about some stuff, right? It took her a long time to be confident that I’d moved on.”  
“Moved on? From …?”  
“From you.”  
“Why?” she asks in surprise.

“Well … it was you that ended us, and let’s face it, I was kind of a dick the way I first went after Haley. She … she had some hang ups about you.”

“I don’t get it.”  
“Well … I mean … look at it from her point of view.”  
“Which was what, exactly?”  
“She knew how much I’d felt about you. She knew I regretted being such a dick to you. She knew it was you that ended us, not me. She knew I probably _wouldn’t_ have ended it. She knew you were freaking gorgeous. She knew we still got on really well, even after everything. She knew …”

He stops. Mainly because Peyton’s looked progressively more stunned with each of his points, and … because he’s not sure he should say the next one. She shakes her head and drags her long, slender fingers through her hair.

“She knew …?” she prompts. He knows he must look sheepish because she suddenly looks very curious indeed.

“She knew …?” she says again, stepping right up to him and pressing her hips into his. “Nathan? What did she know? And don’t make up some bullshit to get yourself out of trouble.”  
“Like I used to back then?” he says, screwing his face up a bit.

“Yeah - like you used to back then. What else did Haley know?”  
“She knew I still had photos of you on my laptop.”  
She steps back, hands on hips, eyebrows raised.

“Photos?”

“Yeah ... I mean … nothing outrageous.”  
“I should think not! Like I’d ever have let you take … _outrageous_ photos of me. Why did you have photos of me on your laptop?”  
“I dunno,” he shrugs. “They were nice photos. You looked great in them. There was that one of us at the beach that summer before Junior year.”  
“The one you had in your apartment?”  
“Yeah.”  
“I … that was a nice photo,” she says, almost wistfully.  
“That was a nice _summer_,” he points out. Hmmm. Just like this current one is a nice summer. And that one, back then? Right after that summer is when it all turned to shit.

“It was,” she smiles. “And?”  
“And what?”  
“The other photos?” she presses

“Um … maybe some screenshots?”  
“Of what!?” she almost shrieks.

“You. Um … in your room. From that stupid web cam you had.”

“Oh my God, Nathan! From when, you giant dick?”

“From after you dumped me. Just … I missed you, alright? I just … I missed you and I dunno … it was stupid.”  
“Yeah. It really was. I hope she made you delete them?”  
“Probably. I don’t know. I don’t have that heap of shit laptop anymore, anyway.”

“Thank God for small mercies,” she says, rolling her eyes, then stepping forward to jab her finger into his chest. “Creeper. Who knew that psycho that pretended to be my brother wasn’t my first creepy stalker.”

“Hey!” he protests. “I’d never have … I just … I just missed you, okay? I … it was hard, letting you go.”  
She looks at him for long moment, and he looks back, clearly regretful, clearly embarrassed.

“Promise you won’t be creepy at the end of this summer,” she instructs as she relents and steps closer to him again, slipping her arms around his waist.

He sighs, relieved, and wraps his long arms around her.

“Of course not,” he says, resting his chin on her head. “You know how messed up I was, Sawyer. You were the best thing I had going, and I screwed it up, and it was … it was just hard. I know I was a jerk. And … yeah … so anyway. Haley had a thing about you for a while ‘cos, other than me, who figured it out too late, she was the only one that figured out I didn’t think of you as just …”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Are we done on the tidying up?” he asks.

“I think so,” she says looking around. “Yeah.”  
“Good,” he says, moving away, sliding his hand to hers and gently pulling her away from the kitchen.

“Good?” she asks, a small smile playing at the edge of her mouth.

“Taking you to bed,” he says.

“Oh really?”  
“Atoning for my sins,” he says, a little smugly.

“By committing new ones?” she teases.

“Yep,” he says, stopping and turning to wrap his hand around the back of her head and bend a little to kiss her mouth hard. “I reckon back then I was jealous of Lucas and … my pride was wounded.”  
“Huh, envy and pride. Right.”

“And lust,” he murmurs against her mouth.

“Ew! Exactly what did you do with those screenshots?”  
“Not then,” he chuckles. “Now.”  
“Now?”

“You’re so sexy,” he says quietly. “I just … I … I just need to take you to bed, okay?”

“I don’t think lust today wipes out envy and pride from years ago,” she laughs.

“Maybe not,” he says as he turns and moves towards the stairs again. “But I think we should test that out, just to be sure.”


	14. Haley James Is A Slow Learner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peyton pales and her eyes are like saucers as she looks past Haley’s shoulder in a slightly panicked way. Haley thinks, with some satisfaction and vindication, that she’s really got her quarry on the ropes, that an admission to what Haley always suspected is but seconds away.

At the mall, the next afternoon, with Nathan wanting to get a head start on getting Jamie set up for the school year (buying clothes with Peyton notwithstanding, he really doesn’t like shopping but he’d rather do it now before the crazies hit the shops a couple days out from the first day back), and Peyton needing a few supplies for work, the Scotts head one way and the Sawyers head another, agreeing to meet up at three for coffee.

Peyton is there, waiting for the guys, with coffees for her and Nathan, and a tall milkshake for Jamie, when Haley appears from nowhere and approaches her, looking fiercely determined.

“You never did answer me yesterday,” she starts in while she’s still walking the last few paces towards her target. “Were you screwing him while he was still married to me?”

“Well, hello to you too, Haley,” Peyton says mildly. “I’m still not answering that. And I really think you should stop that line of questioning.”

“No. I really want to know,” Haley insists, leaning in and looking disturbingly aggressive. “Were you or were you not _fucking my husband_?”

Peyton pales and her eyes are like saucers as she looks past Haley’s shoulder in a slightly panicked way. Haley thinks, with some satisfaction and _vindication_, that she’s really got her quarry on the ropes, that an admission to what Haley always suspected is but seconds away.

“Haley, please stop it,” Peyton almost begs.

“Because you don’t want to lie?” Haley almost crows, leaning in towards Peyton a bit, emphasising her words with an odd stabbing movement of her hand. “Or because you’re too shocked that someone figured it out? It wouldn’t be the first time you went after someone else’s guy, would it? Your best friend’s at that. And now you’re shacked up with _my_ husband.”

It was unobservant of Haley James not to notice where Peyton’s gaze had been focussed and therefore why the woman had pleaded with her to stop her accusation. And It would be really,_ really_ stupid to get caught out the same way two days in a row. But when the man in question’s voice comes from immediately behind her, Haley James knows she’s in a little trouble. When she turns and sees her son standing there too, his face ashen, she knows she’s done for.

“Jamie,” Nathan says very, very calmly with his hand on the boy’s shoulder, squeezing reassurance. “Kiddo, can you help Peyton with the tray of drinks? Take it over to the far corner. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Jamie wordlessly does what he’s asked, throwing a reproachful and wounded look at his mother as he does so.

“You know, throwing the whole Lucas/Brooke thing at her was completely uncalled for,” Nathan points out, shaking his head. “It was what? Nearly 15 years ago? She ultimately did the right thing at the time, which Lucas did _not_ by the way, not without a huge push from her, and _he_ was the one supposedly in a relationship, not her. She more than paid the price for that mistake. You committed _adultery,_ Haley. Not really your place to take a moral stance on two consenting adults having a mutually fulfilling relationship that hurts no one. And I made it very, _very_ clear yesterday that there will not be any change to the ‘ex’ in front of ‘wife’. So please make sure you put the ‘ex’ in front of ‘husband’ too.”

“So, it’s okay for _our_ son to be under a roof where you’re living in sin, with an old high school girlfriend in your bed?” she scoffs determinedly.

He laughs at that, and then finds himself being a little lax with the facts to make his point.

“She’s not an old high school girlfriend anymore. And you know what? We _were_ being discreet, _very_ discreet. She was in the guest room. Until_ our_ son told Peyton and I that we should be open about our relationship and not sneak around just because he was in the house. And before you accuse of me of doing something inappropriate and getting caught at it, oh … like _you _did for instance, it was your old bed buddy Lucas that told him. Until then Jamie didn’t have a clue.”

He turns to walk, then turns back, stands with his hands open, almost pleading.

“I don’t know what happened to you, Hales. You’re not the girl I used to know and love. But I do know one thing. That woman over there,” he motions with his head, “is in my life whether you like or not. And while she didn’t have a piece of me back then, when you had all your unfounded dirty suspicions, she sure as hell does now.”

There’s not much said between the three of then – Jamie, Nathan and Peyton – while they drink their shake and coffees. All three of them divert their attention to Annie, catching each other’s eyes every so often and smiling somewhat feebly.

It’s Jamie that ends it eventually, slurping the last bit of his milkshake noisily as if to provoke a reaction from one of the adults but they both just look at him with a mix of indulgence and discomfort.

“Okay,” the fourteen-year-old says, tapping his now empty shake container on the table a few times, “I need to say something.”

“Go for it,” Nathan says, putting his coffee cup down and turning to his son.

“That was gross,” Jamie says firmly. “What Mom said. And how she … it was gross. But I don’t believe that you two were … when you and Mom were married. I don’t believe it’s true.”

“It’s _not _true,” Nathan says firmly.

“Good. So … you guys shouldn’t have to be … all awkward and stuff. With me. Because … yeah … I don’t believe it. And what Mom did was gross.”

“Are … you okay?” Peyton asks quietly.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I mean … I’m kind of pissed off at her. And I don’t want to spend any more time with her after … after that.”  
“Jamie,” Nathan warns, “she’s your Mom.”

“Yeah but … Dad, what she just did … I mean … I knew about her and … how she treated you … you know, why you split and when you split and stuff, but it was … sort of … just like a movie, you know? It didn’t feel real. But now I … I’ve _seen_ it. And … and heard it. And … I don’t like it.”  
“Jamie,” Nathan sighs, “look. I appreciate that. No one should have to see their family speak like that to … but she is your _mother_. And she’s a _good _Mom. And you can’t …”

“Dad, how many times have you told me I don’t have to spend time with people that make me uncomfortable? Or people who don’t behave well? Or people who treat other people badly? How many times have you told me that a good guy sticks up for other people when they’re being unfairly treated?”

“Yeah,” Nathan smiles wryly. “A few, I guess. It wasn’t supposed to come back to bite me, though, kid.”

“I know she’s my Mom,” Jamie says, remarkably calmly. “I know she’s a good Mom. I still love her, Dad; I just don’t like her very much right now. She treated Peyton really badly right in front of me.”

“Jamie, you don’t need to defend me,” Peyton says gently, her hands fluttering awkwardly.  
“Maybe not,” he shrugs, “but when she did that to you, that means she did it to Dad, because you’re important to Dad.”

“Oh,” she says. “I …”  
“And when you’re important to my Dad, you’re important to me,” Jamie continues.

“You’re growing up way too fast,” Nathan chuckles, shaking his head. “Jamie, I can look after myself, you know.”

“I know,” Jamie says quite casually, “but I need to not spend time with Mom for a bit. I don’t mean forever. Just … a while.”

“You’re sure?” Nathan asks.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. You’re old enough to make that call. Are you also old enough to tell her that yourself, or do you need me to?”

Jamie pauses, fidgets with the straw in his shake container for a moment before he answers.

“I’ll just wait until she calls me next,” he eventually says. “Then I’ll explain.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Nathan says.

“Okay. But I won’t.”


	15. Exes Causing Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hang on a minute,” she says into the phone, then mutes it and turns to Nathan.  
“It’s Greg. He’s here,” she explains, watching Nathan’s jaw tighten. “Lucas called him! He’s insisting I meet him for a coffee and saying he’ll come here, to the beach house, if I don’t.”  
“Is he threatening you?” Nathan asks, a nerve in his cheek twitching in a telling sign of anger.  
“No,” she assures him. “Just insistent. I don’t want him coming here. Not with Jamie and Annie. If I meet him …”  
“I’ll go with you,” he interrupts her. “I’ll sit at another table. Just to be sure?”  
She pauses and he runs his palm gently down her forearm.  
“Peyton,” he says quietly but firmly, “let me help you with this.”

She’s been scrambling on a deadline for a small but lucrative job and has burnt the midnight oil to get it in to her client on time. Nathan and Jamie have, in their usual amazingly helpful way, taken Annie out for a couple of hours. Peyton suspects her daughter is being well and truly indoctrinated into the Scott basketball obsession on these outings. And, to be honest, she’s perfectly comfortable with that idea. Her own passion for the game has been reignited while she’s been here.

(It’s off season right now, but on more than one occasion she’s found herself stalled in a doorway while Nathan watches recordings of his old college games and NBA games, even back to his old Ravens’ games, and the more recent Ravens’ seasons for which he was coach. He says he’s just making sure he doesn’t lose his touch, for the sake of the kids that will be on his high school and junior high teams next year. Last time, she laughingly told him she thought he was just admiring his own body. His response was that she admired it enough for both of them, but that he certainly wouldn’t say no if she wanted to come sit down and watch with him. She did. It was one of his old Ravens’ games, from their Sophomore year. She’d cringed when she spotted herself in the distance, high kicking as if her life had depended on it. He’d smiled at her flushed cheeks. ‘Speaking of admiring bodies,’ he’d muttered, making her roll her eyes, stand and leave both the couch and the room immediately.)

She could probably have made the deadline for this small job without the aid of the Scott men, just, but it has certainly made the last few hours a little less stressful knowing she could just put her head down and go for it. She’s just uploaded the files to her client, Josie, when she hears the guys and Annie coming into the living room through the door that is open onto the deck. As she’s heading out to greet them, her cell phone rings. She expects it to be a ‘thanks for making that tight deadline’ call so answers without looking while she’s waving at Annie, and using her customary tongue in cheek greeting for this client.

“Hey Jo, waddayaknow?”

“Peyton?”

It’s not Jo. It’s a voice she’s pretty sure she never wants to hear again. Greg.

“What do you want?” she asks suspiciously.

“Nice to talk to you too.”

“Seriously. What do you want?”

Jamie’s helping Annie wash the salt and sand of her hands and feet at the outside tap, but Nathan, grabbing drinks from the fridge, lifts his head at her aggravated tone.

“I’m in this cute little town of yours. Meet me for a coffee.”

“Thanks, but no,” she says curtly.

“I’ll come to you then.”

“You will not.”

“I will. And before you say I don’t know where you are, I do.”

He rattles off the beach house address, and she knows, just _knows,_ he’ll turn up if she doesn’t go to meet him.

“Just meet me for a coffee,” he insists. “Half an hour, an hour tops. I just want to talk.”

“How did you find out where I am?” she demands.

“One of your friends contacted me. Very insistent. Said they thought you’d be receptive to a discussion about reconciling.”

“What?!” she exclaims. “Who on earth would do that?”

“Scott someone? Not sure. Not important.”

“Nathan?”

“Scott Nathan? No doesn’t ring a bell. Anyway …”

“Lucas?” she interrupts pointedly.

“Scott Lucas? Oh yeah ... Lucas Scott. That’s it. So ... name the place or I’m on my way to you.”

“There’s no point,” she answers firmly. “I’m _not_ open to a reconciliation conversation.”

“Look, I’ve come a long way. It’s just a coffee. I _will _come there if I have to.”

He’s used to getting his way because he’s surrounded by toadies all day every day. He genuinely doesn’t know how to accept a no. Nothing in his tone is threatening. She’s not even remotely afraid. She just doesn’t want to see him. And she certainly doesn’t want him showing up here, not with Jamie here. That’s a whole can of worms she doesn’t want opened in front of the teenager.

Nathan’s approaching, with a questioning and concerned look on his face.

“Hang on a minute,” she says into the phone, then mutes it and turns to Nathan.

“It’s Greg. He’s _here_,” she explains, watching Nathan’s jaw tighten. “_Lucas_ called him! He’s insisting I meet him for a coffee and saying he’ll come here, to the beach house, if I don’t.”

“Is he threatening you?” Nathan asks, a nerve in his cheek twitching in a telling sign of anger.

“No,” she assures him. “Just insistent. I don’t want him coming here. Not with Jamie and Annie. If I meet him …”

“I’ll go with you,” he interrupts her. “I’ll sit at another table. Just to be sure?”

She pauses and he runs his palm gently down her forearm.

“Peyton,” he says quietly but firmly, “let me help you with this.”

She nods and rolls her hand over to twist her fingers with his for a moment. To be honest, his offer is exactly what she was hoping for; she’s just a little torn about dragging him into it, albeit from a distance.

“We can drop Jamie and Annie into Mom and the Lee gang on the way. It’ll be fine for an hour or so,” Nathan suggests. She nods again and returns her attention to the phone call.

“Fine. There’s a little café on the pier, _Bean There, Bun That_. I’ll see you there in an hour. The sixty-minute timer will be running from when I get there, regardless of whether you’re there yet or not.”

He’s notoriously late, her ex-fiancé. Always. Today he can be late on his time, not hers. She ends the call without waiting for his response and takes a deep, calming breath.

They drop Jamie and Annie with Deb, who takes one look at her son’s stance and face and knows not to ask what’s going on. She ushers Jamie inside, telling him that Cooper and Kelsey’s three are in the living room watching a movie, and takes Annie from Peyton’s arms.

“Thanks, Deb. We shouldn’t be too long. Only an hour or so. I’m sorry about the short …”

“One hour, two, three; it really doesn’t matter,” Nathan’s mother says kindly. “Just go. Do what you need to do. We’ll be here. And I may not give this one back to you anyway. She’s too sweet for words.”

As if on cue, Annie giggles up at Deb and pats her arm.

They’re both quiet on the way to the pier. Peyton’s utterly peeved that this is even happening, and mentally rehearsing the words to get Greg to leave, without causing a major scene. She knows how stubborn he can be when he’s not getting his way. Nathan thinks she’s underplaying the situation, thinks it could potentially get nasty, though admits to himself that he doesn’t know this guy and it’s probably just his own protective nature kicking in there. Sawyer’s a good judge of character, he’s telling himself. She should be able to assess the situation accurately. She knows the guy. She was engaged to the guy. She lived with the guy. She …. Yeah. He really doesn’t like thinking about what else she did with the guy. Or any guy.

That kind of takes him by surprise and starts him thinking about what _they’ve_ been doing. Peyton and Nathan. Nathan and Peyton. Nate and Peyt. And he realizes, with a very sharp intake of breath that has Peyton looking at him worriedly, that the schmaltzy rom com movie thing that Peyton likened this whole thing to has actually happened. To him. He’s fallen. He’s just run into it with a cool tail wind helping him along and hasn’t noticed until now; when he’s over the finish line. While he's been thinking about how he can get her to consider staying after summer, he’s gone ahead and fallen hard for her. Beyond hard. And he still has no idea how to deal with even the end of summer question, or even how to bring it up. Not now, that’s for sure, not with what they’re on their way to do. But when? How? And should he at all? And why, he thinks, recalling her end of the phone conversation that he overhead and in which she’d mentioned _his_ name before his brother’s, would she think that _he_ would make a call to this guy? Especially knowing what he knows about how they split. That makes him stew even more. He’d never endanger her; she_ must_ know that?

“You okay?” she asks, her hand on his arm and looking at him with concern. “Nate. It’ll be fine. There’ll be a bit of a discussion. He won’t listen for a bit. Then eventually, once I’ve told him the same thing several times, he’ll get it and he’ll go. He might have a bit of a quiet temper tanty but he’s way too image conscious to create much of a scene.”

He shakes his head. “Yeah. Sorry. Just …”

“I know,” she replies, “you just can’t help yourself. Looking after everyone. You’ve turned into Keith.”

That raises a smile from him. Of course, he didn’t really get to know Keith as well as he’d have liked, but he knows what high praise it is to be likened to the man.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You were meant to, silly.”

Another thought occurs to him and he can’t resist teasing her.

“So, you remind me of Karen, and I remind you of Keith. What does that say?”

“God! Hopefully not that we’ll have some long drawn out almost purely platonic relationship that ends in tragedy.”

“Platonic wouldn’t have had your pretty mouth saying those sexy things in my ear last night, Sawyer.”

She smacks him arm, blushes madly but retorts immediately.

“Platonic wouldn’t have had you _moaning_ my name either, Scott.”

“That’s because you were doing some other remarkably moan-worthy things with said pretty mouth, as I recall.”

“And as _I_ recall, I was merely reciprocating. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, or so I’m told.”

That, he thinks, is part of why he’s fallen. He can tease her mercilessly and she gives it right back. She’s comfortable enough with him, and with herself, to be completely uninhibited, not to mention _generous_, in the bedroom, but blushes like a schoolgirl when he alludes to it. And she’s even more gorgeous when that pink flush rises on her cheeks.

Nathan spots the guy the second he walks into the café, a few minutes ahead of her as they discussed. _Greg_ is just too well dressed, too well-groomed to be a local or your average tourist. He’s so immaculate he looks like he’s in the middle of a photo shoot. Nathan’s never been one to scope out the competition, he hasn’t really ever needed to, but even with a cursory glance he can see that this guy is exceptional looking. He’s almost a dead ringer for Bradley Cooper, who apparently the ladies quite like. And tall. Probably taller than Nathan. Well built, in a non-pro athlete way. Oozes money. But really, he’s out of place here. He should be at the Hamptons, or Cape Cod, or the freaking Riviera. Not here, not Tree Hill, not in _Nate’s_ town talking to _Nate’s_ girl. Woman. He, _Greg_, has got a coffee, and one sitting there waiting for Peyton, and it instantly riles Nathan that the guy knows how she has her coffee.

A couple of minutes later, Peyton follows him in and heads straight to the table her ex-fiancé is at. She sits, drops her bag next to the seat and cuts to the chase.

“One hour. Max. Go.”

The guy laughs.

“Not fair, doll. You know I love bolshie Peyton.”

Doll? Since when was Sawyer a _doll_? Sawyer is a _babe_. End of story. Nathan can hear them, but not see them. He knew if he faced them, he’d not be able to stop eyeballing the guy. But in his mind, he can see Sawyer rolling her eyes. At least he hopes she is. Except that she looks really sexy when she does that. So … maybe not rolling her eyes at _Greg_, after all.

“Greg. Just tell me what you want,” she says impatiently.

“I want you to drink that coffee. It’s good. I’m kind of surprised that such a hick town has such good coffee, but there you go.”

“The world exists outside of major cities,” she says, mocking his snobbery.

“How’s Anna?”

“Fine. She’s fine. I’m fine. You appear to be fine. We’re all fine. That being established, let’s move on to why you’re here.”

Nathan really can’t help but smile to himself. Damn she’s a hardass when she wants to be.

“I’m sorry, Peyton. You _know_ I’m sorry.”

“Sure. You said that at the time and in the few dozen messages you texted, emailed and left on my voicemail after. I know you’re sorry.”

“Then what’s it going to take to make you come home?”

“That’s not home for me anymore, Greg. I’m not coming back. I made that very clear. I haven’t changed my mind. And I won’t.”

“People make mistakes._ I_ made a mistake. It won’t happen again. You know that. You know you can trust me on that.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you and it’s not that I don’t believe it won’t happen again.”

“Then what is it?”

“I think it’s more what it’s not.”

“What it’s not?”

She sighs.

“Greg. It ... this … us … it’s not what I thought it was.”

“What does that even mean, Peyton?”

“It means I thought we had what you need to make a life together. But we don’t.”

“How can you say that? We were great together. Everything about us fitted perfectly.”

“I disagree. And I’m not getting into a discussion about that here. The thing is … after that row … I spent a few days crying ...”

“I know … but never again …”

“No, Greg. That’s not where I was going. A few days crying. Then after that, it was over. I really haven’t thought about it since. I haven’t really thought about _you_ since. I’m sorry, I am, but that’s where I’m at. We were engaged, and yet within a week of us being over, I didn’t miss it. I didn’t miss us. And that tells me that we ... weren’t right.”

“Well I respectfully disagree. I think we were _great_. I’m just sorry I didn’t get that at the time. I _do_ miss you. And I miss Anna. And I want you both to come back to LA, to me, to our home.”

“That’s just not going to happen, Greg.”

He stands then, taking a small turquoise velvet box from his pocket and placing it on the table in front of her. She doesn’t need to open the box. It’s the engagement ring she threw back at him. Was that just a few weeks ago? It feels like years.

“I don’t want the ring back, Greg. We’re not getting married.”

“I want you to think about it. I’m here until tomorrow night. Call my cell if you change your mind. If you don’t call, I’ll leave, and I won’t bother you again. But Peyton, we _were_ great. We can be great again.”

“Please take the ring. I won’t change my mind.”

“No. It’s yours regardless. If you won’t put it back on, then I guess … give it to Anna. Or sell it. Or … I just know I could never give that ring to anyone else. It screams Peyton Sawyer.”

And he’s gone before she can argue anymore.

On the way back to Deb’s, and with the same things churning through his head that were there on the way to the meeting, Nathan doesn’t speak. At all. Until, sounding really disconcerted, she tells him to pull over, which he does. He half expects her to leap out of the car and puke on the side of the road, but she just sits and looks at him.

“You’re pissed,” she says eventually.

“What?”  
“You’re pissed, and I _think_ you’re pissed at me, though I really don’t know why.”

“No.”  
“Nathan, don’t do that! Don’t lie to me. You’re pissed.”  
“I’m pissed at that guy. At _Greg_.”

“Why? I handled it. It’s done.”

“You just don’t … it’s just not …”  
“And you _are_ pissed at me for something. So just tell me, already.”

“You thought _I_ called him?” he blurts out. “You think I would do that?”

“Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“On the phone. You guessed me before Luke. You thought I’d made that call to him.”

“No, I didn’t.”  
“Now who’s lying?”

“Nathan,” she says softly, leaning over to touch his arm. “I didn’t think you called him. I know you wouldn’t do that.”

“You guessed my name first,” he repeats, just a little belligerently, staring straight ahead.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s just that when someone says Scott …”  
“What?” he says, turning to look at her.  
She shrugs. “When someone says Scott, I think Nathan.”

He huffs a little at that, but her hand is still on his forearm and she’s looking at him so straightforwardly that he knows she’s being honest.

“Nate, I know you wouldn’t do that. But quite frankly, I am _really _struggling with why your dumbass brother would.”

Nathan really does huff this time.

“What?” she asks.

“Why he’d call? That’s obvious.”  
“Not to me, it’s not.”  
“My dumbass brother would rather _anyone_ had you than me.”

“That’s …”

“Ridiculous?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Maybe. But it’s also true, Sawyer.”


	16. It's Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's past the end of Summer and it's time: time for a date (or two); time to face down some Tree Hill demons; time to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very long chapter. And some risque parts; don't think they go over the line between M and Adult but feel free to let me know if you think I'm wrong. Anyway ... proceed with caution if that stuff bothers you. (But c'mon, it's Nathan and Peyton, after all!)

Brooke looks, of course, stunning when she turns up at the beach house. Elegantly frocked, with tanned shoulders and arms on display, and beautiful strappy shoes showing off equally tanned legs, and perfectly painted summery toenails.

She looks over Peyton’s slim-fitting trousers in a stunning metallic grey, and her flowing silk shirt and slightly boho jewellery, the hair in a sophisticated twist, and Brooke nods approvingly. Her friend looks phenomenal.

“Nice work, P. Sawyer,” she teases. “Planning on picking up cute boys while you’re out on a girl’s night?”

The brunette grins at Nathan when he throws her a filthy look, then she suggests that she and Peyton have one glass of wine before they go so that Brooke can have a little Annie time.

“Teaching my kid to drink, Davis? Some Godmother you are!”

“Oh,” Brooke says with a cute little pout, her hand against her chest. “I’m a Godmother!”

Peyton merely rolls her eyes and takes a chilled bottle from the fridge, pours two modest glasses, returns it to the fridge then shoos Brooke to the sofa, near which Annie is cheerfully lying on the rug, playing with a group of soft and colourful toys.

Peyton asks Brooke about the restaurant she’s booked, and Brooke tells her it’s small but lovely, about twenty minutes’ drive out of town, built, along with a bar and, of all things a yoga studio, in what used to be a boat storage facility. Peyton’s trying to imagine where it might be, and Brooke’s giving somewhat hopeless descriptions of the route and surroundings, getting her friend more and more confused, when fast footfalls on the stairs break into their conversation.

They both turn their gazes to look. Nathan’s reappeared, though Peyton finds herself thinking she didn’t know when he’d vanished, in a pair of the dark, fit so well they could have been tailored jeans that she’d chosen for him during that shopping spree, and a smart shirt, cuffs rolled back twice, tidily, two – no, three - buttons undone at the neck, his hair immaculately styled. And a gorgeous pair of dress boots that she’s never seen.

She looks at him, baffled, and he looks back for a long moment.

Then grins, flashes his eyebrows up then strides to the kitchen counter to pick up his phone, wallet and keys.

“I …” Peyton looks from him to Brooke, and back, in total confusion. He’s supposed to be Annie-sitting.

Then she realises how smug the look on Brooke’s face is and rolls her eyes.

“What did you do?” she asks, indulgently accusatory.

“Doh,” Brooke says with a coy smile. “_Clearly,_ Nathan’s taking you out for dinner.”

“Clearly?”

“Yes,” Brooke says, standing, taking the wine glass from Peyton’s hand, then taking her hand, pulling her to her feet and pushing her away from the couch.

“Nathan is taking you out for dinner, and I am going to teach Annie about both fashion and how good this pinot gris is.”  
“What!? Brooke!”

“Don’t be daft, P. Sawyer. I won’t have anything more to drink. And I won’t give it to my beautiful Goddaughter either. As if I would do that! We will use our words! We will _discuss_ fashion and pinot gris.”

Nathan drives them, Peyton still a little stunned, to a cute little seaside restaurant out of town that has some booth seating, and they are ushered to one of them. When they get there, there is a blue checked tablecloth, a small table vase with daisies in it. Peyton looks around - no other tables have tablecloths at all.

“This is weird,” she murmurs, looking at Nathan, who merely grins and wriggles his eyebrows at her and gestures for her to sit.

A few minutes later, a drinks waiter appears and places drinks in front of them. Peyton raises a hand to call him back, but he’s gone.

“What …?”

“What’s up?” Nathan asks, picking up his glass.

“Nathan, these aren’t our drinks.”

“Sure, they are.”  
“But we …”  
“We?”  
“We didn’t order drinks yet. Plus, I think these belong to some kids.”

He merely shrugs and takes a long sip of his; looks like coke.

“Coke?” she asks. “I don’t think I’ve seen you drink anything sugary since I got here.”

“Try,” he says, extending his arm and tipping the straw towards her.  
“And … a straw? Really?”  
“Just try it.”  
She takes a tiny sip and her eyebrows raise in surprise.

“That’s a …”  
“Black Russian,” he nods. “Try yours.”  
“Nathan, what are you …?”  
“Try it.”  
She rolls her eyes and purses her lips around the straw and takes a tentative sip of what she thought was chocolate milk.

“Good?” he asks.

“What did you do?” she chuckles.

“I preordered.”  
“Yeah, a Black Russian and a Brown Cow. Why?”  
“Grown up versions.”  
“Grown up versions of what?”

“Coke and chocolate milk.”

“Okay. And I repeat … why?”

“I preordered dinner too.”  
“Okay, Nathan, this is getting a little odd. How do you know what I want to eat?”  
“Trust me, Sawyer, you’ll want to eat this.”

“Nathan!”

“Peyton. Do you trust me?”  
“You know I do.”  
“Good. Then shush. Drink your grownup chocolate milk and keep trusting me. And if your next question was about me drinking and driving, I’m only having one.”

He’s right. When the waiter appears with plates, Peyton’s in hysterics as Nathan tells her tall tales from the last Tree Hill High Ravens season – he swears they’re all 100% true – so she signals an apology to their server and leans back, hand over her still laughing mouth, allowing the man space to put the plates on the table.

Burgers. Grown up burgers, with what looks like really good steak in them, a deep red, thick relish and slices of a rich looking cheese. Curly fries. A flattish round cast iron pan with mac and cheese.

She knows her jaw has dropped open and Nathan laughs at her and tells her to dig in. She has to go for a mouthful of that amazing looking mac and cheese first and honestly? It may well be the best thing she’s ever eaten. She’d stake her reputation on it having been made with gruyere, with a little blue cheese added, and just the tiniest tinge of truffle oil. She looks over their feast; grown up burger, grown up mac and cheese, curly fries, grown up versions of teenaged drinks and something turns in her head.

They talk, and laugh, and before she knows it, they’re walking back along the road a little to a pier, buying ice creams and leaning against the pier rail to eat them, still laughing, still telling stories, then he’s handing her into the car and she thinks they’re heading back to the beach house, and feels a little … sorry that the evening is almost over.

But as they near Tree Hill, he turns left when she’s expecting him to turn right and he drives them through town, and out to the high school, and he merely laughs when she questions him.

As he’s unlocking the gym door, she takes his hand and pulls him back a bit.

He stops and turns, and she stands on her tiptoes and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“What’s that for?” he laughs.

“Grown up enough not to break into the gym this time?”  
“You got it,” he smiles, understanding that she’s made the connection.

“I think I got it at the mac n cheese!”

He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her against his side, dropping a kiss on her nose.

“You recreated our first ever date,” she chuckles. “Who knew what a romantic you’ve turned into!”

“To be fair, I think I _upgraded_ our first ever date.”

“Well, as I said, at least you’re not breaking into the high school gym this time. That should have been a warning to me, shouldn’t it?”  
“A warning of what?” he says indignantly, opening the door and ushering her through ahead of him, taking a step to the side to throw the lights on.

“That you’d be nothing but trouble for the next two years!”

“You wound me, Sawyer.”

“Oh really?”  
“Come on, be fair; you were a willing accomplice getting into the gym that night and besides, I was only trouble for the last few months of it, not for the whole two years.”  
“Well … that is true, I guess.”  
“You _guess!?”_ he accuses, swinging around and wrapping his arms around her hips, picking her up and all but throwing her over his shoulder.

“Nathan! Put me down!”  
“Nope. Not ‘til you tell me I wasn’t a total waste of space the whole time we dated.”

“Or?”

“Not in any hurry, Peyt. I’ll just hold you on my shoulder ‘til you crack.”

She laughs, gently and playfully beating his back with her fists.

“Kinky,” he teases. “Still not putting you down, though.”

He ambles over to a ball rack and, keeping one arm wrapped securely around her, bends his knees just a little so he can grab a ball with the other, dribbles it a couple of times then wanders, as if he has no cares in the world, towards a hoop.

“Seriously?” she giggles. “You’re gonna shoot hoops with me over your shoulder?”

“Sure,” he says, shrugging so that her whole body rises up then drops down with the movement. She can feel him grinning. He dribbles again, effortlessly controlling the ball with his one hand then stops, presses it down to the floor once more, bends his knees a little and sends the ball sailing. She can’t see it, her face being somewhere around his shoulder blade, but she hears the swish, so she claps, then puts her fingers to her lips and lets out a piercing whistle.

“Huh.” He makes a surprised little huff.

“What?”  
“I thought you couldn’t whistle?”

“Why would you think that?”

“You told me.”  
“When!?”

“That thing. Senior year,” he replies. “The one you brought up before I went to help Mom and Kels during Coop’s surgery. That class thing when you told me not to be martyr.”

“Oh.”  
“Oh?”  
“Um … yeah. Well, good news, I _can_ whistle!”

“You can whistle _now_? Or you could then but said you couldn’t?”  
“Does it matter?”  
“No, not even a little bit. Just … curious.”  
“About?”  
“I guess, if you really couldn’t whistle then, I’m curious about who taught you or, if you _could _whistle then, why you’d say you couldn’t.”

“Put me down and I’ll tell you.”

“Can’t do it, Sawyer,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m a man of my word, and I already told you; tell me I wasn’t a dick for the entire time we dated, and I’ll put you down.”

He wanders over to the ball while he’s speaking, tucks his toe under it and kicks it up, wanders slowly back to the ball rack, dribbling as he goes.

She laughs under her breath and then realises that, without even being aware of it, she’s been slowly rubbing circles over his back with her palm. She pauses, and he sort of sighs, and it sounds regretful, so she starts up the circles again.

“Nate?”

“Uh-huh?” he responds, returning the ball to the rack, then his hand to the back of her leg.

“You … you don’t actually think that do you?”  
“Think …?”  
“That_ I_ think you were a waste of space?”

The tone’s turned serious suddenly, and he doesn’t really know quite what to do with it.

“I … no.”

“I _don’t_. I really, really don’t. We … we were each dealing with a lot in our own way. And we didn’t know how to help each other. And … you weren’t a waste of space. And you weren’t a dickhead.”

“Not the whole time we were together, anyway,” he adds, leaning forward to tip her up, and gently guiding her down to the floor.

“Not for very long at all, really,” she says softly, as her feet touch down and her eyes meet his.

The moment stretches and he doesn’t know whether he pulls her into his arms or whether she walks into them, but before he even registers it, they’re kissing. Long and deep and slow and his hands are on her hips and he’s walking her carefully backwards until her back touches the gym wall and he’s pressing against her, one hand slipping from her hip down her thigh, hitching her leg up to his hip so he can tilt in and press closer.

He can feel her fingers wrapping around his neck and her thumbs lying along his jaw, gently pressing on the pulse he can feel thumping there. God, she makes his blood run hotter, he’s sure. He knows that if she was wearing a skirt or dress, he’d be sliding the fabric up those silken legs of her and thinks it’s both a curse and a blessing that she isn’t. And that thought makes him groan a little, and his groan makes her sigh and then she’s pulling back a little and tipping her head back against the wall, and really, that’s just asking him to kiss and lick a line up her exposed throat, now, isn’t it?

“I don’t recall our first date including making out against the gym wall,” she says with a breathy laugh.

“Not because I didn’t want it to,” he retorts.

“You were quite gentlemanly,” she says, smiling at him. “As I recall, I mean.”

“Excuse me, I was _very_ gentlemanly.”

She laughs and steps forward, her hands reaching round to slip into his back pockets and pulling their hips together.

“That’s not very ladylike, Sawyer,” he chuckles as she uses her hands and her hips to rotate their lower bodies together in a slow, heavenly grind.

“I know.”

“You know?”  
“Neither’s this,” she murmurs as her lips press into the pulse at the side of his neck. He can feel the tip of her tongue pressing there too. And really, the way she’s pressing her thigh into him is just …

“Peyton …” he groans. “Jesus.”

“Time to take this somewhere else?”

“Fuck, yes,” he mutters before placing his hands either side of her face, one of his thumbs brushing over her bottom lip and drawing it down just a tiny bit, his gaze fixed on the action. He swallows when she tentatively licks her lips, then turns and walks briskly, his hand sliding down her arm in a fluid motion until his fingers hit her palm, then turn and entwine with hers, and she finds herself being pulled across the gym.

“In a hurry?” she teases, as he swiftly locks the gym door behind them, holding her tight against his side the whole time.

“Hell yes,” he retorts. “Fifteen minutes to get us home, then about fifteen seconds to get you into my bed.”

She laughs as he starts striding down the hallway then she stops suddenly, putting a brake on him and pulling him up short too.

“Oh.”

“What?” he asks, turning around, unable to prevent his gaze sweeping over her again.

“Brooke.”

He drops her hand, rests both of his hands on his hips and tips his head back.

“Well,” he says, looking at her a little defeatedly, “that’s a buzzkill.”

“Brooke’s a buzzkill?” she giggles. “Hmmm. There _was _a time …”

“_One_ time,” he grimaces. “Shit.”

“Poor you,” she pouts. “Are you saying you can’t wait until after Annie’s godmother has regaled us with her goddaughter’s brilliance and beauty and what a positively fabulous night they had?”

“No,” he laughs, “I _can_ wait. I just don’t _want_ to.”

“You waited _then_,” she grins, “after our first date. You waited six months.”

“Totally worth it, too.”

“Sweet talker.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Well,” she says, reaching for his hand and turning on her heel and walking back the way they came, “that may be true …”  
“It _is _true, and the door’s the other way.”

“I know the _exit’s_ the other way, Nathan.”

“Okay? Where are you kidnapping me too then?”

She turns and throws a highly suggestive look over her shoulder, eyebrow quirked, lips parted. Then keeps walking for a few more steps before turning down a short corridor and reaching to open a door.

“This is my office.”

She pulls him through and gently shoves him into the room, closes the door behind them, leaning back against it.

“What are you thinking, Sawyer?” he asks, a knowing grin playing at his mouth.

“I’m thinking that when we dated in high school, you always used to mouth off about having sex in the coach’s office. But you never actually did it.”

She pauses and tilts her head.

“Not with _me_, anyway.”

“Not with _anyone_,” he snaps back.

“Good to know.”

“You want …?” he starts before trailing off at her determined look.  
“I want you to get those jeans off,” she says firmly, “and then I want you to take a seat …”

He holds her gaze while his hands move to his belt, undoing the buckle while he toes off his boots, while he removes his jeans and steps smoothly out of them, nodding towards her hands in an effort to get her to follow suit.

She steps to him, places her palm flat on his shirt-clad chest and presses him back, slowly, steering him one handed until he feels his desk chair behind him. Her hands alight on his shoulders and push him down, as he drops his jeans onto the desk, then her fingers flit over his shirt buttons until she’s pushing the fabric down, and he’s leaning forward, wriggling out of it, raising his first free hand to lift up the silky fabric of her shirt and lean to press his lips to the skin he’s just revealed.

Her hands rest on his shoulders as his lips mark a trail down her skin to the top of her trousers.

“Your turn,” he says huskily.

She steps back and he can feel his breath quickening as her hands meet at her left side to lower a hidden zipper and she shimmies out of the close-fitting fabric, tossing them playfully to one side.

Her slender fingers move to her top button, their eyes still locked, and he shakes his head.

“Nate?”

“Leave it?”

“My shirt?”

“Yeah, just … c’mere.”

He extends a hand; she places hers into it and he hauls her in, spreads his legs and pulls her between them, somehow wraps one of his legs around the back of her knees and reaches for her top button himself.

“Oh, I see,” she teases, “you just want to unwrap the present yourself.”

He merely smiles and undoes the first button, slipping the tiny pearl-like globe through the fabric, then leaning forward, pressing a kiss to the skin he uncovers.

She sighs and he repeats, and repeats, and repeats.

Six in all. Six times he slips the pearlized button through, parts the fabric and admires, then leans in and presses warm lips to her skin. Each kiss longer than the one before. Each parting of fabric eliciting a longer, hungrier look in his now navy eyes.

She goes to shrug out of the shirt but his hands swiftly move to stop it, pulling the fabric back to cover her shoulders, then slipping his hands inside it, travelling them down her sides to rest as her hips, his thumbs caressing the points of her hip bones.

“You want me to leave it on?” she all but whispers.

“Is that okay?” he asks, pulling her closer, hands moving to the backs of her thighs, gently encouraging her forward until she moves, a knee either side of his thighs, straddling him, one hand on the chair back to steady, the other at his shoulder.

“Yeah. Of course. Whatever you want …”

“Sounds dangerous,” he grins. “Really?”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head and he tilts his back, leans up to kiss her. Long and slow, just like the one against the gym wall that led them to this.

“There is …” he begins. Then stops and looks a little … almost shy … as she puts her hands on her own hips and raises an eyebrow and waits.

“Will you … is it …?”

“Nathan,” she says gently, surprised by his shyness, and managing, with just saying his name, to convey that he should go ahead and ask of her what he wants to.

“Will you let your hair out?”

“I …” she blushes and he just tilts his head and smiles a slow, sexy smile that makes her heart speed up and she nods … almost shy … and reaches back to unsnap her hair clip and that gold and red tumbles down over her shoulders and he draws in a breath.

“You are … fuck, you’re hot.”

“I … Nathan, I ...”  
“No. You are. Seriously, Peyton. So hot … so sexy.”

Her response is to rise up above him as her hands frame his face, tip forward a little so that he’s forced to tip his head back, then she’s kissing him. Deep and languid, then rapidly turning almost frantic when his fingers slip inside her underwear. He finds her already throbbing a little and can’t help but smile, making her sigh, the outright moan as he slides two fingers carefully into her while his thumb slowly rotates above.

He frowns as she leans away from him, but quickly realises she’s merely pulling his wallet from his jeans’ pocket. She swallows, draws in a long, shaky breath as she passes the condom to him. He folds his hands around it, and her fingers, and stops, forcing her to meet his eyes.

He holds her hand in his, holds her gaze and does nothing else except continue to stroke and circle and rotate and play with his other hand. It builds. She sighs again and trembles a little and tries to look away, but he squeezes her hand and his other hand stills. He holds and waits and feels her pulse around his fingers, but he waits and waits. And a shudder passes through her entire body and he waits, not moving again until she finally, _finally_ gives in and looks back at him and silently but fiercely, commands him, with those green eyes, to _move_ _goddamit._

He lets go of her hand, places the condom on the desk beside him, moves his free hand to place it flat against the small of her back and presses her forward onto his other hand which he now twists and twirls, drawing his fingers out of her excruciatingly slowly then pushing back in, spreading a little and, when she gasps a quiet “oh”, he reaches up to claim her lips and groans into her mouth when their tongues meet.

“Oh,” she sighs into his mouth. “Oh. Oh.”

He kisses again, his mouth on hers, his fingers in her, working in unison until he can virtually feel her spine tingling. He draws back the merest fraction, just enough to speak against her lips.

“C’mon, babe, go over.”

Her head tips back and she is _glorious._

“Fuck yes,” he urges her on, voice full of gravel, “gorgeous. Come on. Come for me.”

His palm, still at the base of her spine, presses her forward just a fraction more and while his other fingers still move, he presses the inside of his wrist against her and grinds it just enough to make her fly.

Her fingers grab onto the fabric of his shirt and crush it as she grips hard, mouth open, eyes closed.

“That’s it. Jesus, look at you. Incredible.”

She eases off just a little and draws in a shaky breath, eyes still closed, swallows.

He moves the hand at her back, gently pushes aside that silky fabric and leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to the golden-tanned skin above the lacy trim on her bra.

She pulls him up to meet her as she leans down and _crushes_ her mouth on to his.

Then it’s a scramble. A frantic mess of kisses and sighs, of fingers through hair and chest against chest. Of hands – both hers and his – as they wriggle to remove the last fabric between them and tear open that little packet. A moment of stillness and anticipation as he pauses, rolls the condom on and looks up to find blazes of green want watching him. Renewed fever then, as he surges up, one hand wrapping around her neck to pull her mouth back to him, happy to drown in her kisses and her scent, while she grips his other hand, lowers first one foot then the other to the floor either side of the chair and, taking him in her other hand, strokes strongly just a couple of times before finally (_at last _he thinks, as if it’s been that six months he waited for her back then), sinking down on to him.

“Hmmm,” Brooke says, when they walk into the living room, hands on her hips and bare foot tapping a rhythm on the floor.

“What?”

“No need to ask what you two had for dessert!”  
“Ice-cream,” they say in perfect unison.

She laughs at them, tells them Annie is adorable and perfect and asleep and she’s going now, thank you very much before the two of them lose control and have sex – _again_ \- right in front of her.

She’s gone within mere seconds and they’re left standing in the middle of the lounge a little shell-shocked.

“Well,” Nathan says eventually, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I suppose it’s bedtime, then.”  
“I’m not even remotely tired.”  
“Who said anything about sleep?”

“You’re incorrigible.”  
“I think you mean insatiable.”  
“That too,” she retorts before turning and walking towards the stairs.

“I didn’t hear you say no to round two,” he teases.

“That’s because I didn’t say no to round two. C’mon, Scott, chop chop!”

“Chop …?”

“A girl has needs, you know.”  
“I think those needs were well and truly satisfied a little while ago,” he says smugly as he follows her. “At my gym. In my office. On my chair.”

“And now,” she says, as they enter the bedroom, turning to face him, and sliding her fingertips down the front of his shirt, smoothing out the crumple that is still visible. “Now, you’re going to satisfy them again. _Slowly_.”

“You better not be suggesting I was too fast before.”  
“Nope,” she says, shaking her head coyly.

“Nope?”

“Nope. Just right.”  
“And now you want slow?”

“And now I want slow. And long.”

“I can do that.”  
“Oh, I know you can.”  
“Tell me one thing first?”

She laughs, closes her eyes, shakes her head.

“Yes, Nathan, I could whistle back then too.”

He tilts his head, nudges her with a knee, then again, then again until she feels the side of the bed behind her knees.

She grips that shirt again and fall backward, taking him with her.

“I … didn’t mean to lie to you,” she says, lying there, eye searching his.

“So?”

“I … Nathan, you’d just told me Deb had attempted suicide and … and … and you were almost blaming yourself and … I just … I just didn’t know what to do, or what to say and … I guess I did what I used to do when you were hurting … I avoided it.”

He looks at her, stunned, and for a moment she thinks he’s going to freak out then he drops his forehead to hers and lets out a long breath.

“That’s not what you did. That’s not what you used to do. Not at all.”  
“I …”  
“No. You didn’t. Most of the time you … you listened, and you tried to help but most of the time I thought I knew better than you, or thought I knew _best_ or I was just being an idiot. You didn’t avoid it when I was hurting. You helped me. You tried to help. And you_ did_ help. When I let you.”

He pulls back and she smiles; just a small smile, but it’s warm and genuine and all he can do is lean down to kiss her. Soft and tender. Reverent.

And this time it’s slow and long and yes, soft and tender. And reverent.

Her mind wanders back over the evening, the perfect evening, recalling that way back then she’d done a similar thing at the end of that first date, and had thought it a perfect evening too. Her last, slightly odd, thought before she drifts into sleep is that on their real first date, Nathan had walked her to her front door and kissed her on the cheek, and walked down the path leaving her wanting more. There hadn’t been making out against the gym wall, there hadn’t been a torrid, breathless, can’t get there fast enough coupling in the coach’s office chair and there hadn’t been long, slow, sensuous sex back at the beach house. Funny how two nights could be so similar and so different all at once. And both so … perfect.

His last thought, as he turns his head and watches her slip into slumber, her eyelids fluttering closed, eyelashes sweeping her cheek, is that their first date ever was the beginning of two years, and that he knew it. At the time, he knew it was the beginning of something. He wasn’t nervous; not about the date (he may have already been screwing around a bit by then, but it was his first proper date with anyone really) but nervous about what he knew would follow. He wanted it. He wanted her. He knew it would be the beginning of something different for him. What’s _this_ the beginning of?

When he wakes the next morning, he’s perturbed at first, when, eyes still mostly closed, he stretches out a hand to find … space. He blinks a couple of times and frowns, then notes the sheets are still a little warm, so she’s not been gone long. Probably making coffee, he thinks, then starts looking forward to her appearing in the bedroom doorway with a couple of steaming mugs. His anticipation grows but, after fifteen long minutes he’s still waiting. And now the sheets_ are_ cold. He frowns again, then sighs, and throws back the covers.

Standing at the living room windows, a perky Annie on her hip, Peyton watches the sand, where early morning walkers are numerous, and the water, where breakers roll in relentlessly. It doesn’t escape her that she feels completely at home, completely at ease. In this house, on this beach … with this … well.

She smiles as Annie gurgles.

“You like it here, huh, Annie?”

Peyton looks further along the beach, to the right, can see a spot in her mind’s eye; a spot she used to think of as her’s and Lucas’. And … it’s okay. There’s a little nostalgia and, sure, maybe a small zing as she thinks of a few moments, a few words – _just the two of them_ for summer, _the one for you Brooke Davis_ – but it’s actually okay.

Annie touches her cheek, and Peyton turns back to her daughter, her gaze looking far to the left. A different spot. An earlier spot. Her’s. And Nathan’s. And she smiles.

Annie jiggles and points and gets terribly excited and Peyton laughs when she sees what Annie’s spotted; a large yacht out beyond the surfline.

“Boat?” she says to Annie. “Can you see the boat, Annie?”

The yacht executes a turn, then almost seems to hold its breath, then a large colourful sail runs up the mast and slowly fills.

“Bah!”

“Yes, Annie. Boat. Though I don’t think you’re saying that, are you? That’s a sail.”  
“Bah!”  
“Yes. You’re right. Bah! The bah is turning. I think that’s called tacking. Maybe not. I don’t know if the boat’s turning into the wind or away. I know nothing about sailing.”  
“Bah!”

“Yes. Bah. Bah indeed. Turn into the wind or away, Annie? I … you know what? Maybe it’s time we find out. It’s … time. Shall we go and check out this crazy little town?”

“Bah.”

“Well, that’s helpful, crazy girl. Guess I’m on my own on this one.”

She looks at the beach again, at the boat, at the keys to Nathan’s car that are lying on the countertop next to her purse and sunglasses, and she decides. It’s time.

Just as Nathan’s bare feet hit the top step of the staircase, he hears the front door close. By the time he gets to it, Peyton’s pulling out of the driveway, the top of Annie’s car seat just visible through the rear door window.

It’s not the first time she’s been to the River Court since she arrived, weeks ago now, but it is the first time she’s just stood, lingered, thought. She stands mid-court, looking first at one hoop, then at the other.

_I’ll be seein’ ya._

Huh. It was so odd, she’d always thought so, that this place had meant _nothing_ to so many of them, then _everything_ to most of them. And she found she could recall so many days, afternoons, nights spent here – en masse, or with just a few, or with just one other – Nathan, Brooke, Haley, Lucas. Deep and meaningful conversations of the type only earnest teenagers have. And the memories were … just that. Memories. Not knives stabbing at her heart.

_I have someone. I’m with someone._

Is that what it was? Or was it _I’m with someone. I have someone_? She couldn’t remember anymore. Just an image of a lost and lonely young woman in her early twenties, arms wrapped around herself, standing quietly, introspectively, until the sound of a basketball being pushed into the concrete broke into her thoughts. And the strangest of reunions. Here and now? She smiles. No knives stabbing at her heart. This is okay.

“Bah!”

She looks up to see Annie looking excitedly out at the river and yes, indeed, there are boats. Annie turns her sparkling eyes on her mother and grins and jiggles.

“Bah!”

“Shall we go, Annie? Where shall we go next?”

She doesn’t make a conscious decision, really, but then maybe she does. The River Court’s where it all started. And Tric is where it all truly ended. And that’s where she finds herself a few minutes later, pulling into the car park, killing the engine and just sitting, looking out the window at the outdoor staircase, the dark brick exterior. She doesn’t know how long she sits, but she gets an awful fright when fingernails tap briskly on the window.

“Holy …!” she exclaims, her palm flying to her chest.

“Sorry,” Deb Scott mouths, as Peyton winds down the window, then repeats it. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a fright, sweetie.”

“It’s okay. Geeze, I was miles away, I think.”

“Doing a tour of the high spots of your youth?” Deb teases with a frighteningly knowing look.

“I … something like that, I guess.”

“Want to come up?”

“I … I assumed it would be locked up?”

“It is,” the older woman shrugs. “I have keys. I just give it a once over every so often for Karen; make sure there’s no leaks, rot or infestations. So … coming up?”  
“I … um … sure, I guess so. Why not?”

It’s cool and eerie inside, sheets covering the tables through the club, stacks of chairs along one wall, no sign of any glassware on the bar, dust floating in the long rays that shine through the windows.

“Wow,” Peyton says, a little in awe, “it’s …”

“Weird, huh?” Deb laughs. “All the action’s down on the pier these days. And there’s a really big club in Wilmington now, so the kids tend to go there …”  
“It’s …” Peyton turn slowly, taking it all in. “It’s … so still and quiet.”

“You want to check out the old studio space?” Deb asks. “I just need to do a walk around in here, check there’s no drips, leaks, nests …”

“I … um … is that okay?” Peyton asks hesitantly, then laughs a little nervously. “I feel like I’m trespassing.”

“You’re fine,” Deb tells her, rubbing her forearm gently with a reassuring hand. “I can take Annie if you like?”

“It’s okay,” Peyton says. “I think I’d like her to see the studio … the place where her Mom was, briefly, a kickass record label executive.”

“A kickass record label _owner_,” Deb corrects her, then gestures towards the large door that leads to the old studio area and turns and heads off to the bathrooms to commence her checks.

Peyton walks towards the door, then stops in front of it, eyeing it with what feels like trepidation. Long seconds pass, then she becomes aware that Annie is squirming a little and she laughs.

“Not exciting enough, huh, munchkin?”

She moves forward, pushes the heavy door open and takes a few more steps. It’s … odd. Almost as eerie as the main room, with desks and tables similarly clad with ghost-like sheets. Sunlight streaming through that beautiful stained-glass window and adding to the quiet ambience. She takes in the recording studio, or rather what was the recording studio. It’s been gutted and she supposes that makes sense. She vaguely recalls hearing that Sire had shut down the physical space sometime after she’d left, and of course that would have meant selling off the gear. She hopes it went to a good home, to someone who made beautiful music with it.

_“I moved on.”_

_“You still love me.”_

_“This isn’t over.”_

_“You’re despicable.”_

She looks down to find Annie concentrating hard, her little forehead frowning, picking at the bright little flowers on her cotton dungarees.

“Picking flowers, sweetie?”

“Bah!”

“Right, well, I guess that answers the question as to whether you were saying boat earlier on, doesn’t it?”

“Bah.”

“Bah, indeed,” Peyton agrees, as she looks around the space. “Bah to all of that.”

Then she smiles. It’s the past. And it’s _in the past_. Where it belongs. This is good. This was a good idea. It was time.

She hears the door open and turns to see Deb peeking, a little tentatively, through the doorway.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Peyton nods. “Everything’s good. Thanks Deb. This was … it was good to see it again.”  
“Despite its sad old lady state?”

“Yeah. I think … _because_ of its sad old lady state.”

They leave the old studio space, then the old club space together, Peyton waiting a moment while Deb locks the door and tests it, then descend the staircase and cross the carpark to their vehicles.

“Where to next?” Deb asks Peyton as they each unlock their cars.

“Sorry?”  
“Your tour of the dark, despicable past,” Deb teases. “What’s the next stop?”

“I … I’m … I think … the school? I don’t suppose it’ll be open, but …”

“On a Thursday morning a week before school starts back? I think it might be. Teachers will be there setting up for the year, I imagine.”  
“It’s … wow … school’s back next week?”

“Summer’s turning into Fall, my dear.”

“Yeah,” Peyton murmurs, turning to open the back door so she can put Annie into her seat, “I guess it is.”

“Well, it was nice to see you,” Deb says, waving her fingers cheerily at Annie. “Bye bye Annie!”

And in seconds, she’s gone, and Peyton’s left standing by her car – _Nathan’s _car – looking at the trees across the road, and noticing, for the first time, that the leaves are changing colours. Fall has snuck up on her.

There are plenty of cars in the staff parking area at Tree Hill High School. She feels odd parking there, in a visitor space, rather than in the student zone. But … well, she _is_ a visitor. She wonders if she can just walk around or if she should go to the office and ask permission to go to the library, then she realises that, without even being aware of it, she’s decided not just to go inside the buildings, but to go to the library. Wow. She … really is staring down the monsters.

Squaring her shoulders, tucking Annie firmly on her hip, and locking the car, she heads towards the school office. If she’s going to do this, she determines, she’s going to do it right – all above board, with permission.

Oddly, there’s virtually no question from the lovely young woman in the school office when Peyton explains that she’s a THHS graduate, back in town for the summer, and she wonders if it would be okay to have a look around. Maybe it’s a thing; alumni coming back to town over summer and wanting to reminisce. Maybe. She bets not many got shot and then bled out in the library though, Peyton thinks darkly. The administrator merely asks her which parts of the campus she’ll go to, and Peyton says just the block with the library in it, and that most of her old classrooms are in that area anyway. She’s given a yellow guest card, asked to sign in in the visitor book and to both sign out in the book and return the card it to the office when she leaves, so that they know she’s no longer on site. All perfectly reasonable.

She presses her palm to her old locker as she walks past it but feels no need to stop. Peeks into a couple of rooms but again, barely slows down as she does so. And then, she’s there. She’s in that hallway, can see shattered glass, can hear confusion and panic. But it’s all in the distance, as if she’s reading a third-party account; a news article perhaps, something she was never able to bring herself to do at the time.

The library door swings open easily. The space has been completely revamped since the last time she was here, locked in for an uneasy evening, delivered pizza by a hapless Tim. She wanders through the study area, populated by tables and chairs, through a couple of rows of books, just a few words from two occasions, years apart, coming to her mind, then wafting away.

_“I’m tired. Are you tired?”_

_“It’s not glass is it?”_

_“Before this turns into a women-in-prison film, I think we should move on.”_

_“I watched how caring and meticulous Lucas was with the words he chose for her, like he was still holding on to her. Sometimes I think he still is.”_

Oddly, it was the thought of that lock in with a group of female friends that caused her more … discomfort now. Of course, she’d been in the library many times since the shooting, over the rest of her senior year for a start, but this was the first time she’d been in here since that … that uncomfortable evening when she’d been grappling with … stuff. Trying to accept a new reality. And let’s face it, not doing so well at that.

Now it feels … well, maybe not as _okay _as the River Court and Tric and the studio felt, but … manageable. Would she go out of her way to come back in here? No. Would she freak out if she had to? No.

Well. So … this is interesting; even thinking about the possibility of being here again. That would mean she had to be in the town itself of, course. What was … was it … letting go? Resolution?

She doesn’t stay much longer; returns the pass to the office, signs out, chats briefly to the receptionist, exchanging small talk about their respective graduating class years, extracting herself as politely as she can when the woman mentions that her own Senior Year English teacher had been Haley James Scott.

It has been going so well. Really, she’s beginning to wonder why she’d built it all up to be such a massive hurdle. She’d lived in Tree Hill for a year, give or take, the best part of a decade ago, well after her high school soap opera of a life. She’d revisited all of these places then. She didn’t really understand why she’d been so reluctant to ‘do the rounds’ again. She feels almost … sunny ... or breezy … as she drives towards the old house. She’d been back there before; even into her old room, thanks to the generosity of the young girl living there. So, she isn’t expecting anything significant now, really. Maybe a quick movie in her head; a broken window and a stalker’s body flat on his back on the grass below, followed by an empty space where that body had been and then wasn’t … a space that had mocked her, told her he’d got away and she wasn’t safe after all; a hazy flickering version of being tied to a chair in the basement when he came back. But hell, she could easily replace those memories with ones of laughing madly with Brooke, long evenings with ‘loser rock’ blaring from her turntable, lazy nights and early mornings fooling around in her bedroom. With Nathan. Funny how he’s the one she remembered most strongly now. Not Jake. Not Lucas. Nathan at fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.

So … she feels good.

Then she turns the corner and pulls up in front of … a house that bears no resemblance whatsoever to hers. She sits and looks to her right, then back at the house. In her rear-view mirror, ahead, then back at the house. Well, she is in the right street and in the right place, but that is … _not_ her house. A nice house, she registers. A _lovely_ house even. But not hers.

She sits and looks. Her phone rings and she ignores it. Annie gurgles and she turns back to smile at her gorgeous wee girl. And she fights back tears and a tide of something that she just can’t deal with; not with Annie with her. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Shit,” she mutters.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there, feeling empty and lonely and vaguely as if her old house has rejected her. What happened? A fire? Some other disaster? Or just someone wanting something different?

She’s aware that someone walks past the car and looks at her a little suspiciously. Then that a neighbour comes out to their front porch, down their front walk and along towards her car. She does not want to talk to anyone, so quickly turns the key in the ignition and, checking over her shoulder, pulls out and leaves the house behind.

She has no idea how she gets there, but before she knows it, she’s parking the car again, releasing Annie from her car seat, and walking up the gentle grassy slope that leads to her mother’s grave.

The flowers she left there weeks ago are brown and dried, of course, and she kicks herself for not bringing a fresh bunch. She lifts the withered offering and wanders along the row to a rubbish bin, tucks them into it, then returns to sit next to her Mom, her legs out straight, Annie on her lap.

“So,” she says after a while of just sitting, letting the sun warm her up a little. “Mom, this is Annie. Annie, this is your Nana Anna, who you, my dearest darlingest girl, are named after.”

She sits a while, trying not to dwell on the house, trying to be pleased that the rest of her little tour had been perfectly fine. But … it bothers her; the house. It really, truly bothers her. And it shouldn’t, should it? She grew up in that house; her memories of her mother being alive are, for the main part, tied up in that house. Her friendship with Brooke was housed under that roof. Her relationship with her Dad, however fractious at times, was formed in that house. She was _lonely_ in that house, of course. She was _held captive_ in that house. She _kicked ass_ in that house too, mind you. She keeps trying to turn her mind away from it, but she _can’t. _How she feels about the house, and how she feels about the town, and, dare she say it, how she feels about Nathan is a twisty-turny jumble of emotion that knots itself in her stomach and makes her feel thoroughly ill.

She feels Annie leaning forward and realizes she’s reaching for one of the daisies that sit so prettily in the grass. She lets Annie lean further, holding her safely, until her pudgy little fingers touch the white flower.

“Daisy,” Peyton says.

Annie turns and looks at her quizzically.

“Daisy.”

“Bah.”

Peyton laughs.

“Oh, Annie, thank God for you, that’s all I can say.”

She rearranges herself, legs in a V, with Annie propped up against her, and picks more daisies, deftly turning them into a little daisy chain that wraps twice around Annie’s wrist. It triggers a memory of her Mom doing something similar in the backyard of the house – _their home_. The home that is … gone. Replaced.

And she cries. Not noisy sobs, not howling grief, but quietly, sadly. She keeps Annie – still between her Mom’s legs and with her back to Peyton’s belly - amused; clapping, passing her daisies, tickling her knees. Every so often she ducks her head to wipe her wet cheeks against the fabric of her shirt at her shoulder. She feels … bereft, and yet unsurprised that this town has, somehow, found yet another way to hurt her. Of course, it’s ridiculous. She knows that. It’s a house and the owners of the house have rebuilt it, probably for a very good reason. And yet …

Her phone rings and for a moment she thinks she’ll leave, then thinks it may be Nathan and he may be concerned that she’s vanished for hours and not left a note, so she rummages in her bag and manages to catch the call just before it rings out. It’s not Nathan.

“Dad?”

“Hi, love. How are my girls?”

“Oh … we’re … “  
“Peyton? Are you okay? You sound choked up?”

“Um … yeah. A bit. We’re fine. Annie’s right here.”  
“You have a late summer cold?”  
“Um … no.”  
“You’re crying, then.”  
“When did you get so quick on the uptake?” she half laughs.

“What’s going on, Chicken?”

“I … I just went to see the house. Our old house.”

“And seeing it made you upset?”  
“No. I … I guess _not_ seeing it made me upset.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s gone, Dad. The house. It’s gone and there’s a completely different one there. Did … did you know?”  
“No. I … no. I’d have warned you if I knew. Sweetie … you’ve been in Tree Hill all summer. Did you only just …?”  
“Yeah. I … it seemed like the right time. To … revisit a few places.”

“You mean to torture yourself?” Larry says, concern lacing his voice. “Honey …”  
“No,” she assures him. “Honestly it was fine. The River Court was fine. Tric was fine. The school was fine. Just … if I’d known, I think I’d have been okay, but … it … it was just a shock.”

“Where are you know?”  
“At Mom’s grave.”

“Sweetie,” he sighs.

“It’s okay here, Dad. It’s ... peaceful. I made Annie a daisy chain.”  
“Your Mom used to do that with you,” Larry chuckles. “Cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”  
“Yeah … remembering that is what got me choked up.”

“I bet. Will you give her my love? Your Mom?”

“Of course.”

“And Annie too.”  
“I will. It won’t be long before she’s talking your ear off on the phone all by herself.”  
“Just like her Mom used to, huh?”

“So … what’s up, Dad? I thought you weren’t back from the trip until later in the month?”

“Wrapped up early. I was thinking about booking in a little quality time with my daughter and granddaughter, actually. Seeing as though you’re back on the East coast.”

“I … we would _love_ that! I … shall we meet you somewhere? Charlotte maybe?”

“Charlotte?”

“Well, I know you hate LA, so …”  
“You’re going back to LA?”

“Um … I …”

“Peyton, what’s going on? I … maybe I was just getting hopes up without basis, but last time we talked you seemed really happy. I thought maybe you might stay.”

“Stay?”

“Yes. Stay.”  
“What? In Tree Hill?”

“Sure, honey. Why not?”  
“Because I hate this town!”  
“Do you really?”

“Dad, I’ve just been spent the last 10 minutes entertaining my daughter so she wouldn’t turn around and see her mother in floods of tears. Again. Every time I come back here; I end up in floods of tears.”

“Honey …”

“Dad, I _can’t_. I just … I just can’t.”

“Okay. Okay,” he soothes her. “I just … it seemed like maybe things were different this time.”  
“I’m not sure what you mean?”  
“Well … _Nathan_, I guess is what I mean. You … the last couple of times we’ve talked, you’ve seemed so relaxed, and so … content. I thought … I guess I _hoped _that you’d stay.”

“Wow,” she says with what is _almost_ a laugh, “that is not something I ever thought I’d hear; my Dad rooting for his _baby_ being with Nathan Scott.”

“Well,” he chuckles, “you know how I reacted when you first mentioned this … _summer fling_ to me.”

“Yeah; badly.”

“I just want you to be happy, love. You’ve had enough crap to deal with and I just want you to be happy. I wish … I wish it could be in your hometown.”  
“Says the man who , as soon as his kid finished high school and went West, left said hometown himself?”

“Touché.”

“Why did you leave?” she asks, suddenly curious.

“I … it was …”  
“Too hard?”

“You got me. Yeah. It was too hard. I missed your Mom every day. I missed you every day and yes, I know that that is a ridiculous thing for me to say when it was me that left you alone so much. And … you know, to everyone in that town I’m ‘poor Larry Sawyer’.”

“You can say that in the same breath you’re using to question why _I’m_ not going to stay?”

“Hypocrisy, thy name is Larry, right?”

“Dad! No, I …”  
“Tell you what, if you’re really sure you’re leaving, I’ll suck it up and come to LA this time.”  
“Really?”  
“Yes. Really. God help me.”

“I love you, Dad.”  
“Right back atcha, kid. I have to go. Don’t forget to give my love to your Mom and Annie.”

“I will.”  
“Okay then …”  
“Dad?”

“Thanks.”  
“You are so welcome, honey. I love you. So much.”  
  


A few nights after what was pitched to her as a girls’ night out, and which turned into a date with Nathan, Peyton instructs Brooke that the brunette has to take Peyton out for dinner, and pay, to atone for her deception. Brooke merely shrugs and agrees and calls her favourite restaurant in Wilmington to book a table for that very night, then announces that she’d better skedaddle home to get changed and ready, that she has some business and errands to attend to in Wilmington and that she’ll meet Peyton there, if that suits.

When Peyton instructs Nathan that his atonement is babysitting, he tells her he’d love to but that he already has plans for a guys’ night out with Skills and a few others. He laughs a little at her disappointed face, then tells her he’ll call Deb, that he knows for a fact she’d love to have Annie dropped into her for a few hours.

“I … really? Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

And he’s right.

She offers to drop him in town, seeing as though she’s driving anyway and won’t drink more than one glass of wine with dinner; that way he can have a few beers and catch a cab home. He accepts readily and almost before she knows it, they’ve dropped Annie off to a doting Deb, and she’s pulling over in the small Tree Hill township, near the town’s latest hip bar, to drop Nathan off. He walks around the front of the car, and she wonders what he’s doing because the bar’s behind where she’s parked, but he leans in her open window and kisses her slow and deep.

“Mmm. That’s nice,” she murmurs against his lips.

“Nice enough to make you think about me all night while you and Brooke are _talking about boys_?”

“Maybe.”

“Just promise me you’ll still be wearing that skirt when I get home tonight?”

“Um. Why?”

“I like you in skirts.”

“This skirt in particular or skirts in general?”

“Both.”

“How come?”

“Well,” he begins, hanging his arm inside the window and tracing his finger up her thigh, “I like this one in particular ‘cos it’s a lot like those great little short pleated skirts you used to wear in high school, and they were seriously hot.”

“Right. So, me wearing a skirt is about you feeling like you’re 16 again?”

“Or … and this is why I like you and skirts in general … it’s about me feeling _you_, like I did when we were both 16. Because I can do this,” he says as runs his finger up under her hem, right up to the top of her thigh, “and this,” as he slips his finger under the elastic of her underwear, stroking.

“Whoa there, buster. I have to drive,” she laughs, pushing his hand away.

“Why Miss Sawyer, am I affecting your powers of concentration?”

“Maybe just a little.”

“I’ll let you off the hook, if you promise to leave that skirt on ‘til I get home.”

“I think I can do that. Now kiss me again then go have fun with the boys.”

“I won’t have the same kind of fun with them that I’ll have with you.”  
“I should hope not! Something you want to confess to me, Scott?”

“I confess I want to get you out of that skirt later on tonight.”

She laughs, and pushes him back a step, blowing him a kiss and turning the car key.

“Later!” she says with a wink.

She’s sitting on the floor cross-legged, leaning back against the couch, her laptop open on the coffee table in front of her when Nathan gets home. He lets himself in at the front door, wandering through to the living room, stopping in his tracks when he sees her. He can’t get over how much he likes walking into his house to find her there. It feels great. It feels right. He heads to the couch, rolls over the back of it onto the couch itself and starts kissing her shoulder and neck, threading his fingers into her messy ponytail. She turns to grin at him.

“Well, hello to you too.”

He looks away from her face for a moment to remove her hair elastic, combing her hair out with his fingers.

“Hmm. Have I told you this is spectacular?”

“You know; I believe you have.”

“Good. Just making sure. And have I told you you’re kinda gorgeous?”

“Mmm. I believe you’ve told me that too. Any other compliments you want to tick off?”

“You’re obedient.”  
“I’m what!?” she says, all mock outrage and jabbing him in the chest.

“Rephrase. I see you kept your promise.”

She looks at him directly, feigning that she is still unimpressed.  
“Still wearing that sexy little skirt,” he explains with a cheeky smile.

“Well, you know, this hot guy I saw earlier tonight told me he really liked it … so …”

“I don’t think he could possibly have liked it more than I do.”

“You like it too? Wow … this is a killer skirt. I should wear it more often”

“Only when I’m around to see it.”

“Remind me why you like this skirt again?”

He grins and starts walking his fingers up her thigh.

“Miss Sawyer are you _inviting _me to put my hand up your very sexy little skirt?”

“Wouldn’t that make me a shameless hussy?”

“It would,” he nods, “but I have good news.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“I like shameless hussies.”

She laughs, while he continues to run his palm up and down her leg, nudging the hem of that skirt each time, but not pushing it up, not sliding his hand above it.

“Oh I know _that_. Are you drunk?”

“Nah. Just a little buzzed. You smell nice.”

She kisses him full on the mouth.

“And _you_ taste nice,” she counters. “You’ve been drinking Scotch. That’s dangerous.”

“Why’s that?”

“Scotch makes you frisky,” she says, playing with the collar of his shirt.

“You think you know me so well.”

“That’s because I do. You okay?”

“Yeah. Great. Why?”

“For someone that made such a big deal out of this short little skirt, you’re not in any rush to …”

“I know. Does … does it make me sound completely and utterly soft to say I’m just liking the skin contact? Your skin’s so …”

She raises an eyebrow and looks at him with a look that is nothing short of a dare, which sends a bolt to his … well everywhere really.

“So Jamie’s at Kevin’s for the night,” he says with a grin. “Annie’s at my Mom’s.”

“What’s your point?” she asks innocently, her fingers still at his collar, alternately pulling at it and smoothing it.

“No chance of interruptions. Comfy couch. Sexy girl. Sexy guy.”

“Oh I think I can get on that page with you.”

“Don’t get on the page, woman,” he says taking her hand and trying to pull her up off the floor, “get on _me_.”

She smiles at him, her head tilted to one side, then stands and takes his hand, trying to pull him up.

“Sit up,” she demands, when he won’t move.

“Why?” he complains, but he allows her to pull him up to sitting.

“Because,” she says, her voice dropping in an entirely sultry way, her fingers toying with the edge of his bottom edge of his shirt, “you can get an awful lot more of that skin contact if you let me take your shirt off.”

She begins to unbutton it and, when she’s done, he obligingly shrugs his shoulders to assist her in removing it.

“Your turn?” he smirks.

“Not quite.” She takes his hands and pulls on his hands. “Stand up.”

He rolls his eyes but does as she asks, whereupon she immediately tackles his belt, zipper and, in no time, has him completely stripped and is pushing him back to sit on the couch.

“Must be your turn now, surely?” he smirks. She moves to straddle his lap, leaning forward to grab his wallet out of his jeans pocket and extract the slim packet she knows she’ll find there, pressing against him a little in the process, making him moan. She places the condom on the arm of the couch, then quickly removes her tank top, laughing as he immediately ducks his head to kiss across the top of her bra.

“So to answer your question … firstly, no, it doesn’t make you soft to like skin contact. It makes you human and sensual and kinda sexy actually.”  
“And secondly?”

“Even if it did sound a bit soft,” she says, accidentally on purpose stoking her hands down his length, which responds instantly, “I think there’s ample physical evidence to prove you’re anything but … soft.”

“Ample?” he asks suggestively.

“Oh yeah,” she winks, “_very _ample.”

“I love the fact that bits of you haven’t changed at all since we were sixteen.”

“What! That’s …”

“No, listen,” he said, running his hands up her legs to stop just at the hem of that skirt. “You’re all calm and composed, and an awesome Mom and everything but there’s these flashes … like these racy little skirts, and that … god, that low, sexy laugh … and those smutty little comments you make when we’re … it’s … I just love that some of that’s still there, that there’s bits of you that feel like mine … that haven’t changed since then.”

She’s gazing into his eyes in a way that he doesn’t really recognize. Sort of lusty, but sort of not too.

“Does that make any sense at all?” he laughs, a little embarrassed.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, leaning forward to kiss him deeply. “I know what you mean. I … see those flashes in you too.”

“Like what?” he asks, reaching to expertly flick open the front clasp on her bra, then palming her breasts softly.

“That for one!” she laughs. He drops his hands to her hips and pulls her further forward, teasing her nipples with his teeth and tongue.

“And that?” he murmurs against her, the movement of his lips making her breathe heavily.

He slips his hands under her skirt, to cup her ass, raising an eyebrow at her when he finds bare skin.

“Well that’s one thing that _has_ changed,” he drawls.

“What?”

“You used to hate thongs. You said dental floss was for teeth not butts …”  
“I still hate them.”

“Then why are you wearing one?”

She winks and wriggles a little in his lap. Realisation dawns that it’s not what he initially thought, not a G-string, but he has to run his fingertips across her skin to be sure.

“You’ve been sitting here all this time in this hot little skirt with_ no_ underwear on?”

She shrugs nonchalantly. “Maybe.”

He leaves one large hand under her as his other moves, his fingers slipping between her thighs and beginning to stroke. “And, you hussy,” he asks with a low voice, “exactly what were you thinking about while you were sitting here in that hot little skirt _with no underwear_ on, waiting for me to get home?”

“Maybe you doing that,” she breathes near his ear, leaning forward on to his hand, “and maybe me doing this,” as she trails her hands down his chest over his toned stomach to take him in her hands and begin rhythmic stroking. “But I gotta tell ya, sixteen-year-old Nathan really would have had his hands up my skirt way before now.”

“Sixteen-year-old Nathan would’ve had your skirt _off_ by now.”

“Slowing down in your old age?” she teases.

“Slow’s good, right?”

“Mmmm,” she murmurs, with a questioning look.

“Sawyer?”

She presses herself down firmly on to his hand. “Nate, you’re amazing.”

“Oh I know!”

“No, listen to me,” she says, pulling back just enough to make eye contact. “You look after everyone. You’re an amazing father. Fantastic friend. I haven’t seen you with your team but I just know you’re a great coach … but … don’t you just want to let that sixteen-year-old kid out sometimes?”

“That kid was kind of a ...”

“Yeah, I know,” she interrupts, “but no harm in the odd flashback, right?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Just let go, Nate.” She retrieves that slim packet, tears it open and passes him the condom, leaning forward, grinding down on to him. “Let’s be sixteen again.”

“Fuck,” he breathes as he feels her warmth sliding against him.

“Exactly,” she says against his mouth as she nips at his lip. “I want you,” she says applying just a little more pressure with her hands as she continues to stroke him. “Hard and fast. Be sixteen.”

That’s not something he needs to be told twice. The mix of a couple of Scotches (and yes, she was right, Scotch does make him frisky), that skirt, that skin, the smell of her, the taste of her as she drives her tongue into his mouth, the way she arches back gasping as he thrusts urgently, the way she clenches her thighs onto his, urging him on with her fingers digging into his shoulders, and her insistent _now, now, god, ohmigod, yes, fuck, now_ has him exploding into her in a way that leaves him totally and utterly spent.

And yet after just a few minutes - during which he half reclines, with her laying over him, her head on his chest, his hands slowly caressing up and down her spine, their breathing gradually coming back to almost normal - he is gently pushing her back into the couch and starting a long, tender trail of kisses from her knee, working up her thigh, across her hip, her stomach, between her breasts, over her collarbone, teasing her neck and jaw, then finally taking those perfect lips with his own.

He chuckles just a little when a low hum and moan escapes from her mouth. “You know,” he intones near her mouth, “hard and fast has its place … and apparently that place is on my couch …. but ...” She giggles against shoulder.

“But?” she murmurs.

“I think a strong argument can be made for long and slow too.”

“Long?” she says skimming her hands towards his hips.

“Oh no you don’t,” he says, capturing her hands and taking them firmly but gently to hold them above her head. “This time you’re going to let me run the show.”

“And you didn’t run the last one?”

“Nope. That was all _your ride_, babe.”

“That’s not …!”

But his lips are on hers before another word can escape, and if that long, slow, teasing kiss is any indication of what’s to follow, then really, she’s quite happy.

Later (much later), she heads to the kitchen to get a couple of glasses of water. As she returns to the sofa, Nathan sits up and moves her laptop to make room for the glasses. The screen wakes up, and he sees that she was looking at an airline booking site.

“What’s this?” he says, already suspicious, taking his glass from her with a quiet thank you.

“What’s what?”

“Flights?” he says, pushing the laptop towards her.

“Well, yeah,” she replies, placing her glass on table but remaining standing.

“Why?”

“We said the summer ...” she begins then trails off when she sees the determined look in his eyes.

He stands, taking a step towards her.

“No,” he says firmly.

“Nathan …”

He stops her with a hard, deep kiss that takes her breath away. When he pulls back, his eyes are narrow, guarded, watchful. She takes a couple of steps back.

“We said summer,” she repeats. “Nathan, it’s already well into fall ...”

“No,” he repeats.

He’s right in front of her in a moment, one hand pressing the cool side of his glass into her back so that she gasps and presses forward into his hips. His other hand is at the back of her head pulling it to his, kissing her again. Forcefully, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, not allowing her any room to move. When he pulls back and relaxes just a little, she grasps the moment to lean back, searching his face.

“Nathan. Stop it.”

“Stop what? Kissing you?”

“Like that? Yes.”

“Like what? Like I mean it? Like I don’t want to stop doing it? ‘Cos those things are both true.”

“No. Like you think you can keep me here with … kissing.”

“You do realise you’re saying that while you’re standing there stark naked, right?”

“So? So are you!”

“Because we just had _the_ hottest sex we’ve had all summer.”

She can’t help but smile a little.

“Well. That’s not strictly true.”

“No?”

“I think that might’ve been the hottest sex we’ve _ever _had. But that doesn’t change …”

He’s not having a bar of it and passes his glass into his other hand to place it on the table, holding her hips firmly against his while he does it, then moving his other hand to join his first, both pressing into the small of her back.

“If that doesn’t change it, then maybe this will.”

And God. The kissing is even more intense. And he’s lifting her hips so that her legs are, of their own accord, wrapping around him while he’s rounding the couch and pushing her shoulders back against the cool wall. She can feel his smirk against her lips then she’s gasping as he presses to her.

“Nathan …”  
“You want me to stop?”

“I …”  
“Peyton,” he says, drawing his head back and looking deep into her eyes, deep into her soul. “Do you want me to stop?”  
“No. Shit …”

He drives into her with one hard thrust. He’s not angry, she can feel that, but he is desperate and yearning and searching and she knows he’s using what he thinks is his strongest suit to persuade her. But she said the summer, and it’s fall now and … then she can’t think any more because his name is ricocheting around her head and falling out of her mouth and she’s gasping as he makes a new plea with each push into her.

“Don’t leave, babe.”

“Stay with me.”

“Stay in Tree Hill.”

“_Stay_, Sawyer.”

Then, with that last one, she’s crying salty tears as she goes over the edge, taking him with her. But she just can’t say she’ll stay.

Hours later, they’re wrapped in each other’s arms in his bed, which feels like_ their_ bed, or it would do if she could just … not leave. Stay. Her head’s on his chest, his divine chest, and his hand’s making slow, gentle sweeps up over her hip, waist and the side of her ribcage, then back.

“Peyton.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m sorry. I was …”

“I know, Nathan, I know.”

“I just …”

“You know you were like that when we were breaking up when we were kids.”

“Angry?”

“That wasn’t anger,” she assures him, resting her palm over his heart. “Now or then. That was … trying to hang on to something that was coming to an end. It didn’t work then and ...”

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what? That your ranking as #1 stud in Tree Hill is intact?” she says, reverting to a joke, trying to lighten it up, trying to … avoid the truth.

“Just in Tree Hill?” he says, letting her get away with it, just for a moment.

“Maybe the State?”

“Better. But no, not what I meant. Tell me why. Why you can’t stay.”

“I seem to recall trying earlier and that ended with my back up against a wall.”

“I’ll control myself. Promise. I’m all zen and calm. Now tell me, why can’t you stay? And don’t say because we said the summer and now it’s fall. We’re 30 years old.”

“32.”

“Fine. We’re _32_ years old. And we can change our minds if we want, if there’s a good reason. And there _is _a good reason, Peyton.”

“Tell me about the good reason then. And do it without mentioning sex once.”

“You don’t think I can do it. Well, Sawyer, I have news for you. I am not a one trick pony.”

“Oh, I know that. I saw at least three tricks last night.”

“You told me I’m not allowed to mention sex … but you can?” he points out. “I think you’re just trying to divert my attention, Peyton Sawyer, but I will not be distracted. Reasons why you should stay. Because we are great together and I do not just mean in the bedroom. I mean we fit. I mean we get on like a house on fire. We’re back to the best buds we were before you left. And we’ve become this awesome family. Jamie loves you. And Annie. And you love Jamie, you know you do. And I think Annie’s amazing. I don’t think I could love her more if she was mine, which is funny when almost everyone we meet thinks she _is_ mine. And you’ve been working from here just fine, but how easy would it be to get some studio space in town if you wanted to? Really cheap studio space. In fact, you could even get in touch with Karen about taking the old label space. It’s been empty since you sold. She’d love the rent. Or we could buy the whole building from her if she wanted to sell. It could be a studio _and_ a gallery. You could put down roots and start painting again.”

She’s looking at him, growing more and more stunned as he goes on. Eventually, she sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and dropping her head into her hands. He stops.

“Peyton?”

“I’m a little …”

“Overwhelmed? I know … there’s just so many good reasons … _for you to stay_.”

“Sure. And yet not one of them changes anything.”

“But why?”

“Because not one of them is about you and me being anything more than friends that sleep together, Nathan. What are you thinking? That we just shack up here for … however long and ...”

“No. I’m … I’m just thinking that you’re Peyton Sawyer.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You’re Peyton Sawyer. And you run scared if anything too big gets dropped on you too soon.”

“Maybe 15 years ago.”

“No. More recently than that and … and you’re still running. You ran from Tree Hill when Lucas was being a dick when you could have enlisted our help to stop him. You were running when we came across each other at LAX, though that was for good reason. And you’re running now. You’re Peyton Sawyer; you run. That’s why I’m not dropping anything big and scary on you.”

“Big and scary like what?”

“Me. Us. This. This is _not _just friends that sleep together, Peyton. This is great. And it could be _really_ great. _You’re_ labelling it friends that sleep together because you’re holding back.”

She shakes her head but can’t meet his eyes.

“It can’t be that,” she says, shaking her head.

He moves closer, places his hand on her cheek and gently turns her face to his.

“At the risk of pulling the trigger on the starter’s pistol that starts you running,” he says, not letting her get away with not looking at him, “it _can_ be that. Because it already _is_ that. I love you.”

“I lo ...”

“Nope,” he says covering her mouth with his hand. “You’re gonna do that I love you too thing with that ‘we’re great buddies’ tone of voice. I love you that way _too_, Sawyer. But that’s not what I mean. I mean I _love_ you. I mean I’ve been falling for you for weeks. And now the deal’s done. You can’t change it. The question is can the fact that I love you, stop you from running? Can you just … stay … and _let me_? Just … _let me_ love you.”

“It can’t be that easy.”

“Why not?”

“Because it can’t. It just can’t.”

“I’ve got news for you, Peyton Sawyer. Despite everything you’ve experienced to date, it_ can_ be easy. In fact, it’s _supposed_ to be easy. It’s not supposed to be love triangles, and fear, and unrequited, and constantly making sacrifices, and being made to feel inferior. It’s not supposed to be the other person leaving because something more important has to take priority. It’s supposed to be someone making a case for you to stay. It’s supposed to be being best mates, and being totally comfortable in silence, but having amazing talks too, and having incredible sex and having great kids and saying I love you and being able to mean it in _every way possible_. It’s _supposed_ to be what we have. And it’s _not_ supposed to be hard.”

Was he right? It sounded … Utopian. Too good to be true. Weren’t you supposed to have to fight for it? Claw your way there? Sacrifice? Worry? Pine?

“How can you say all of that after a few weeks of fooling around?”

“It’s more than three months. Three and a half. So a few _months,_ really, not a few _weeks_. And I’m not saying it after a few months. I’m saying it after two years of dating,_ and_ several years of friendship, then a big gap admittedly, _then_ a few months of fooling around.”

“I can’t …”

“Sleep on it.”

“Nathan …”

“I know I’ve ambushed you. I didn’t mean to. Really. I just can’t let you leave without … just please … think about it … sleep on it. And don’t do a Lucas and be gone in the morning.”

It’s a weak attempt at humour but it breaks the tension a little. She nods.

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

He pulls her back down to him, kissing her temple.

“That’s all I can ask, isn’t it?”

She lifts his arm off her and gets up from the bed.

“I think I’ll stay in the guest room.”

“What? No!”

“I can’t think rationally if you’re right there being all … just being you, Nate. I can’t.”

“Is this an overnight version of ‘if you love them let them go, if they’re yours they’ll come back’?”

“I dunno. I always thought that was a load of crap, quite frankly. When I let them go, they generally stay gone.”

He laughs.

“Yeah. Me too. Though you let my dumbass brother go in high school and he came back.”

“Eventually. I kinda wish he hadn’t.”

They laugh together at that.

“More to the point,” he says with a grin, “you let me go in high school too. And look at where we are.”

“You need to stop now.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying, Sawyer. Alright. Go and be all _rational_ in the guest room. Leave me all cold and lonely here.”

“Enough with the pleading eyes, Scott. Geeze they should be registered weapons. You have to …”

“I know. Stop. Go then. Go do good thinking.”

“Nathan … are we ... gonna be okay regardless?”

“Well … the way I see it that’s gonna be up to you. You’re either gonna be with me here. Or not with me somewhere else. And we know how good you are at keeping in touch when you’re somewhere else, Sawyer.”

“You’re saying it’s all or nothing,” she responds a little sadly.

“Nope. I’m saying _you’ll_ make it so that it’s all or nothing.”

She doesn’t sleep a wink all night. The guest room that she found so restful when she first arrived now feels sad and lonely, a lot like she does herself. She wants to believe that love can be all those things Nathan said it could be, should be. But she’s 32, and she’s never seen that, experienced that. She knows her parents had it but look what happened to them. And she knows Whitey and Camilla had it; they had longer than her parents did, but Whitey spent the rest of his life alone and missing the love of his life. She can’t help but feel that her chance at that is gone, or that she just didn’t … doesn’t … deserve it.

When she thinks about that phenomenal man in the master bedroom, she just feels … confused. He’s almost perfect. Insanely good looking. So hot it’s ridiculous; how is it possible for him to just keep get sexier as he gets older? Fantastic father. So great with Annie. Articulate and communicative (gotta thank Haley for that, she supposes, even though his ex-wife became a lying, cheating …) And that, there … Peyton just gets so _pissed_ on his behalf, every time she thinks about Haley and Lucas. That’s got to mean something, right? That she feels _so_ strongly about him being _wronged_ like that. He’s … kind of everything she’s ever wanted … so why can’t she just … go with it? Why can’t she just get over the whole ‘never in Tree Hill, no going back’ and let herself … but she can’t. And she just can’t work out why.

She’s supposed to be trying to work out the big stuff but spends far too much of the night thinking about sex, dammit. Sex with him. The long, slow, sensual nights sex. The laughing in the shower sex. The fast and furious against the wall sex. And oh crap … that makes her think of something else. Something quite alarming.

Quite early the next morning, he comes into the guest room with a steaming coffee for her and one for himself. He puts hers on the nightstand and perches on the side of the bed.

“Well you look like crap,” he comments.

“Nice. I’ll cross off ‘gives good compliments’ on the pro list.”

“I take it you didn’t get a lot of sleep?”

“Or any?”

“And?”

He’s doing everything he can to make it easy for her. He’s not leaving it to her to bring it up. He’s keeping it casual. He’s doing everything right. And still …

“I’m not cancelling those tickets,” she eventually says in a determined, slightly self-defensive, voice.

“What!? You weren’t just looking? You actually booked them?”

She nods, not able to look at him.

“When?”

“A week. Next Sunday.”

“And you’re sure?”

“Not even remotely,” she admits. “I just have to do it.”

“Why? Why is it so hard to stay with me?”

“It’s not _you!_ It’s this town. I just … I can’t get past it, Nathan. Everywhere I go, there’s all this crap and bad memories, and pain, and just … _stuff_ … that I don’t want to have to be reminded of. I … I cannot live in this town. And you can’t live anywhere else, not with Jamie being rooted here.”

He looks at her, stunned, because he realizes in that instant that if it wasn’t for Jamie, he would follow her. To anywhere. Not that he would ever hold his son accountable for that.

“Fuck!” he exclaims. “I …”

“What?”

“I just … If I could, I would go. I’d go with you, or after you, or … I just ... that thought just went through my head and … so … where are you going, then? Where are you taking my second favourite kid in the world?”

Right. So maybe not making it easy on her after all.

“LA.”

He looks absolutely horrified, and beyond hurt.

“My God! You’re going back to him!”

“What? No!”

“You just said you’re going to LA.”

“And there’s nothing else in LA other than Greg?”

He’s quiet. Sulking like a little kid.

“I have a lot of friends there,” she explains. “Almost everything I own is there with one of those friends. A big chunk of my client base is there.”

“And the guy that gave you the sparkly ring _and then hit you_ is there. You’re going back to him. Jesus, Peyton, if all it takes is a sparkly ring to make you want to be in a place, I’ll bloody well give you a sparkly ring.”

“I am _not_ going back to him,” she says, grabbing her bag from the nightstand and rummaging frantically in it, eventually finding the ring. She takes Nathan’s hand, unfolds his fingers from the clenched fist, and puts the ring box in it.

“That’s how much I care about the sparkly ring. There. It’s yours. And what the hell was that other comment?”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”

“Sell it. Bash it with a hammer. Give it to Goodwill. Throw it into the ocean for all I care. The point is_ I_ don’t give two hoots about that ring or the guy that gave it to me. That’s not why I’m going to LA. I’ve spent most of my adult life either there or London, Nathan. And trust me, the climate in LA is much more pleasant. And you didn’t answer me.”

Nothing.

“Nathan! What the hell was that _if all it takes is a sparkly ring_ thing? A proposal?”

“No! Yes! Maybe. I don’t know!” he all but yells. “I just know I don’t want you to leave.”

“Well for your information it sounded more like a threat than anything else. And we know how I reacted last time I felt threatened by a guy.”

“Yeah. You ran. What does that matter? You’re going anyway.”

“Nathan, please. I just … it’s not that I don’t care. It’s not that I don’t feel almost all of that … “

“But it’s _almost_ all, not all.”

He drags his hand through his hair. “Damn, payback’s a bitch,” he utters bitterly.

“What? Payback for _what_?”

He shakes his head and goes to stand but she grabs his hand, pulls herself up to kneeling on the bed, places her other hand on his cheek and turns his face back to her.

“What payback?”

“For being such an absolute dick to you in high school.”

“Are you suggesting I’ve played some game with you?”

“No! No, Peyton. I … I guess I mean karma not payback. I didn’t mean …”

“That’s a pile of crap. You are far and away the best guy I know, Nathan Scott. This is _not_ about you, not the you back then or the you now. This is about me just not being able to do this_ here_. Jesus, Nathan, you are fucking _perfect_, alright? I’m just … I don’t know why I just can’t get over that hurdle, jump off that cliff, whatever. I wish I could. God, I wish I could. And … it’s about this town. Tree Hill. I just ... I _can’t_. I can’t be sucked back into this sinkhole of a town; it makes my life a mess. I cannot live here. I cannot commit to anything, or anyone, that is based here.”

He smiles a small smile and kisses her on the forehead.

“Me too. I mean ... I wish you could too. Jump off that cliff. With me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. Me too. Listen, I need to head into town in a couple of hours to pick up Jamie, and I can grab Annie from Mom’s at the same time. So, you can ...”

“Yeah. I’ll get packed and …”

“But you said a week!” he protests immediately.

“I thought we, Annie and I, should go to a hotel. This will be weird and ...”

“No. Not a chance. If you’re disappearing in a week, I want all the time I can get with you and Annie ‘til then. And Jamie will too.”

“But ...”

“Nope. No buts.”

“Then what were you going to say? I thought you were going to say so I could get packed up.”

“Just that I’d hang out in town with Jamie for a while to give you some breathing space.”

“And there you go being all perfect again.”

He shrugs, smiles a ‘what are you gonna do’ smile.

“I have to go into town anyway,” she counters. “Why don’t I pick Jamie up? I’ll tell him about LA. I know he won’t like it and you shouldn’t have to do that.”

“You sure?”

She nods, smiles a small sad smile that has something to it that he can’t quite work out.

“Why do you need to go into town?” he asks suspiciously.

She was hoping he wouldn’t ask, but she’s not going to lie to him now.

“Doctor.”

“Why? Is there something you aren’t telling me ... is there another reason why you’re leaving?” he asks, suddenly very doubtful about her motives.

“What? Some incredibly rare disease that’s going to take me at a tragically young age? No. It’s pretty simple. Last night …”

“What about it?”

“We didn’t …”

“We didn’t what?”

“_Use a condom_, Nathan.”

“We did.”

“Yeah. The first two times. On the couch. But not when you got all …”

He closes his eyes and nods.

“I really want to say ‘would it be so bad’ but that would be pointless right?” he says in a defeated tone.

“Be so bad? If I was …”

“Pregnant. Imagine that kid. Jamie’s got all the best bits of the Scott genes. Annie’s got all the best bits of the Sawyer genes. A Sawyer Scott baby? Amazing. But you’re leaving, so … anyway … I’ll text Jamie. Tell him to meet you at the Rivercourt at what? Midday?”

She nods, completely speechless at what he just said.

“Will you keep leaving Annie with me over the next week?” He begs. “Let me have time with her? Please?”

She nods again. He turns to look at her when he gets to the doorway.

“It won’t be weird, Sawyer; the next week,” he promises her. “I won’t let it be, if you won’t. And last night was your last night in the guest room too.” 

“Nate …”

“I’ll put you over my shoulder and carry you into our room kicking and screaming if I have to. Don’t think I won’t.”

Our room, she thinks. _Our_ room.

Unbelievably, or perhaps not, because it’s Dan Scott after all, when she comes out of the clinic, Nathan’s father is heading in.

“Peyton. Everything okay?” he asks with his trademark smarmy tone.

“Dan. Yes, everything’s fine.”

He blocks her way down the stairs, and waits, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Nothing to worry about Dan. Nothing’s wrong.”

He looks at her for a few seconds, appraisingly, notices her slight blush and discomfort, then grins.

“Breakages are rare these days. My boy get a bit … _vigourous _... last night, did he?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Really, Dan? You think I’ll answer that?”

“Of course not,” he concedes. “But it’s highly amusing to ask. I apologise if I’ve offended you. And while I’m at it, I should apologise for the last time we met.”

It’s Peyton’s turn to look questioning now.

“I did as Nathan suggested, you know; looked you up online. Your work is very impressive, as is your career. It was wrong of me to assume that your artistic endeavours were in any way …”

“Less than lucrative?” she supplies sarcastically. “I appreciate the … appreciation of my work. But I don’t need your approval.”

Dan nods, turns side on and gestures her down the path. She can feel him watching her walk and she makes damn sure her shoulders are square and her step is … jaunty. God she even hates the word. When her cell buzzes and it’s Brooke, she thinks the timing couldn’t be better. A coffee and a laugh. Just what she needs to cut through the intensity of the last couple of hours.

Jamie is already at the Rivercourt, shooting hoops and casually playing HORSE with a couple of mates. She parks and goes to sit on the bleachers, happy to wait for him to finish his game. It’s not the first time she’s been at the Rivercourt this summer, but it feels awfully poignant today. She knows Jamie is going to be disappointed that she and Annie are leaving, and she’s rehearsing the words in her head. Or trying to. Somehow, they just aren’t coming.

After they collect Annie, and Deb gives her an odd look that indicates Nathan’s probably called her and filled her in, the conversation on the way home is a disaster. Jamie’s his usual chatty self until she says she needs to talk to him. She stammers over the words but eventually gets them out. He looks at her like she’s insane, then clams up for the rest of the trip. Nothing she says makes him speak back to her. And when he crosses his arms over his chest and turns to stare moodily out the window, she can see so much of a teenaged Nathan in him that it’s uncanny. She could rarely coax Nathan out of those moods either. Well, not with mere words. When they get to the beach house, he’s out of the car and in the front door well ahead of her. As she steps inside the house, she hears his bedroom door slam in the distance.

Nate comes in from the deck, taking Annie from her.

“Guess that news went over well huh?”  
“Like a lead balloon. I … God! I’m ...”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“How can I not? I love that kid!”

“I know. I’ll talk to him. He’ll come around.”

She collapses on the couch, worry etched across her face. He moves to sit next to her, passing Annie back when Peyton holds her arms out for her. Peyton pulls her daughter close, burying her face into Annie’s nine-month old shoulder.

“C’mon, Sawyer. It’s okay. It’s a fine family tradition. It’s what we do.”

She turns to looks at him, confused. He’s only a little surprised to see that her eyes are full of tears.

“Scott boys,” he explains. “It’s what we do. We let Sawyer girls leave.”

And the tears spill over. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side, taking care not to squash Annie.

“Sometimes we let them go because we’re dumb and sometimes we let them go because we know we don’t deserve them. And sometimes we have to let them go because we just can’t seem to stop them.”

“It’s not just your son,” she whispers. “That I love, I mean. I do love you too. You know that, right?”

“I do, yeah. But the thing is you don’t know it. Not really.”

She goes to protest, but he stops her with a soft kiss.

“Sshh. We’re not talking about this anymore. Not until you go.”

He stands and smiles down at her, placing his hand on Annie’s head, and throws Peyton a wink.

“I’ll give it one last shot next Sunday. See if I can get Annie on my side. Otherwise no campaigning, I promise. Let’s just have a great week.”


	17. No Campaigning?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re making a mistake,” Brooke says gently. “Leaving Nathan? Peyton, I just …”  
“You just what, Brooke?”  
“I just think you two are so good together. You’re like … I dunno … so good and …”  
“It’s a summer …”  
“Don’t give me that bullshit, Peyton!” Brooke fires at her. “Maybe you thought that at the start, though God help me, you both should have known that would never be all it was. You two are insanely good together. I just cannot believe you are going to walk away from him, from what you have. I can’t believe you’re not fighting for it.”  
“That’s the thing though, isn’t it?” Peyton says. “You’re projecting.”

Nathan told her they’d have an amazing week and he’s true to his word. They _do_ have an amazing week, with lots of laughter, both with and without the kids. He arranges for Jamie and Annie to stay with Deb on Friday night, makes Peyton get dressed up then takes her for a long drive along the coast, before stopping at a tiny little restaurant that she didn’t even know was there. The food’s incredible, the atmosphere is intimate, and he insists on a stunning bottle of French champagne, telling her they’re celebrating the best summer ever, not focussing on the fact that it’s now fall. He leaves the _and you’re leaving_ unsaid.

He has only a glass and a half of the bubbly, ensuring he’s okay to drive them back to the beach house. She laughs when he keeps topping up her glass, asking him if he’s trying to get her drunk so he can take advantage. He replaces the bottle in the ice bucket and leans back in his chair, running his gaze over her in such a way that she feels flushed and yet shivers the length of her spine. He grins knowingly at that then leans forward and reaches for her hand, pressing an open-mouthed kiss into her palm while holding her gaze.

“I don’t need to get you drunk,” he says in a low, rumbly, confident voice. “I never did.”

She blushes. She can feel the height rise over her cheeks.

“Nathan,” she protests, looking at him through her eyelashes.

“Peyton,” he replies, mimicking her coy tone. “I’m just saying …”  
“What are you saying? You said no campaigning this week.”

“I’m not campaigning. I’m just telling you that as soon as you’ve finished that dessert, we’re leaving. I’m driving us back to the beach house and then I’m taking you upstairs into our bedroom and you can sober up with half a dozen cups of strong coffee if you like, but it won’t make any difference to the way you react when I start taking that sexy dress of your very, very hot body. I’m going to have you saying my name in my ear for the rest of the night, and for a pretty decent chunk of tomorrow morning too.”

She wishes she could prove him wrong, but she can’t. She really, _really_ can’t. Because, as he tells her late the next morning, with more than just a little pride, he may as well have had a crystal ball.

Brooke swings by early afternoon and informs Nathan that she’s taking Peyton for a walk on the beach to say goodbye. He leaps at the chance to spend a little time with Annie and sends the two women off with a reminder to Peyton that they’re going to Deb’s later on.

Brooke’s chatty to begin with, catching her friend up on the last couple of days, telling her about some thoughts that are starting to form about her future place with Clothes Over Bros, but after fifteen minutes or so she falls quiet and Peyton looks like her with concern.

“You okay, Brooke?”

“Are _you_?” Brooke responds quickly, stopping in her track sand reaching for Peyton’s wrist to stop her from walking on.

“Me? Yeah, I’m great.”  
“P. Sawyer, you’re an idiot; that’s what you are.”

“Geeze, thanks.”  
“I mean it, P. Why are you leaving?”

“Brooke,” Peyton sighs, gently removing her friend’s fingers from around her wrist. “I can’t … there are so many reasons why I cannot stay here in Tree Hill. You … I don’t need to explain all that to you, do I? Not to _you_.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Brooke says gently. “Leaving Nathan? Peyton, I just …”

“You just what, Brooke?”  
“I just think you two are so good together. You’re like … I dunno … _so _good and …”

“It’s a summer …”  
“Don’t give me that bullshit, Peyton!” Brooke fires at her. “Maybe you thought that at the start, though God help me, you both should have known that would never be all it was. You two are _insanely_ good together. I just cannot believe you are going to walk away from him, from what you have. I can’t believe you’re not fighting for it.”  
“That’s the thing though, isn’t it?” Peyton says. “You’re projecting.”

“I … what?”

“That guy … Julian … the one you talked about when you had that big meltdown. The one _you_ regret not fighting for.”

“That’s … I … so what!? I can’t do anything about that now. _You_ can!”

“Maybe you can,” Peyton says, pulling her phone from her pocket.

“Don’t be … you’re just _afraid_, P. You can get past …”

Peyton holds her palm up towards Brooke and quickly finds a saved piece on her phone, then turns it round to show Brooke, wrapping the brunette’s fingers around the phone.

“Read that,” Peyton instructs, “then tell me again about fear and being able to get past it.”

It’s an interview with Julian Baker. A sort of tell-all, but classily written, during which he confirms he is divorced. The journalist asks how that was kept quiet, that there were no rumours at all. Julian’s response is one of mutual respect and genuine fondness making it a no-brainer to keep everything seemly. His interviewer asks if any other parties were involved and Julian replies with two simple words. ‘Not lately.’

He’s questioned further, of course, but the words of the article suggest the journalist believes Julian _wanted_ to be questioned further, that he was somehow sending a message. ‘I let one get away,’ is his reply. ‘I let pressure from other people get to me and turn me away from what I knew I should do. I let one get away.’ ‘One?’ ‘Maybe … _the_ one. Because I was weak. Because I didn’t stand up for what I knew was right. I put her in an untenable position then I let her down. And I let my now ex-wife down. And I let myself down. And in the process, I lost her.’

“He’s talking about you, Brookie,” Peyton says gently. “You know he is.”

“I …” Brooke looks up. “Maybe he’s not.”

“He is. I don’t even know him, and I know he is. And you know it too.”

“It was years ago,” Brooke whispers.

“So?”  
“You and Nathan … it’s different. You and Nathan are here and _now_. You’re just afraid.”  
“Pot kettle, Brooke.”

“If …”  
“What?”

“If I … if I contact Julian, will you stay with Nathan?”

“You can’t make a bargain like that, Brooke.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because if you contact Julian just to make me do something, then you’re doing it for the wrong reasons and you should contact him because you obviously have major regrets and …”  
“It’s just …”  
“What if it doesn’t work? What if he doesn’t mean you after all? Except he does. What if? What if? What if? Brooke, you’ll never be able to move forward unless you resolve this.”  
“I need to go back to move forward?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re right.”

“I know.”  
“Don’t look so bloody smug, Peyton.”

“I just like being right.”  
“Shame you can’t see that that also applies to you, though.”

“I what?”  
“You need to go back, too. You need to go back to Nathan.”  
“I don’t need to go back to living in Tree Hill,” Peyton says firmly. “A few weeks … Summer at the beach … the odd trip to the mall. Yeah. That’s fine. But there are parts of this town that I can barely drive through without feeling physically ill, Brooke.”

“I … that bad?”

“Yeah. I … “

“Okay,” Brooke says. “I’ll stop hassling you.”  
“Will you call Julian?”

“I’ll stop hassling you if _you_ stop hassling _me_,” Brooke amends.

“I just want you to be happy, B. Davis.”

“I know. I … I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Fine. Just as long as you do, missy.”  
“I … I have to tell you something, P. Sawyer.”  
“What’s that?”  
“I … I don’t think I’ll be able to see you again before you leave.”  
“Because you’re so devastated at my departure?” Peyton jokes wryly, holding her palm to her chest. “Why Brooke, I never knew you felt this way.”

“Because I may have … possibly … in all my boy-free time over the last few weeks, put together a business proposal? And I may … possibly … have got investors on the hook?”

“Brooke! You dark horse! That’s amazing! Tell me more!”  
“I … would you be really mad at me if I didn’t, P?”  
“Of course not! Insanely nosy but not really mad! You being a bit superstitious? Want to keep it on the downlow until after?”  
“Yeah. I ... that’s silly, right?”  
“Not if it’s what you need to do. Besides, we’re back in touch, and we’ll stay in touch. You can tell me all about it once you’re comfortable.”  
“I was hoping you’d say that. So much. We … I really need for us to not lose each other again.”  
“Promise.”  
“Thank you Peyton.”

“Thank you, Brookie.”

Nathan and Peyton spend the rest of Saturday afternoon with Deb, Cooper, Kelsey and their combined brood of kids, in Deb’s large, flat backyard. She knows she should be feeling tired and jaded after such a late, and physical night, but she’s not. Not at all. She kids around with Coop, and sits and gossips with Deb and Kelsey, knowing that these two would really become _her girls_, if she was staying. She races around playing backyard games with the kids and generally basks in the feeling of family and togetherness. She spots Coop and Nathan chatting together somewhat earnestly at one point, and they both raise their glasses to her when they spot that she’s watching them. She realises immediately, that whether or not he says he’s campaigning, this was very much part of Nathan’s plan. A coastal drive, a romantic dinner, an incredible night of tender but passionate lovemaking like she’d never experienced before, and a warm, wonderful family day. He holds her gaze and the knowledge passes between them. Her heart twists and she has to look away.

Saturday night, he holds her close to him as she sleeps restlessly. She mutters in her sleep several times, but he can’t make out many of the words. He thinks he hears a _sorry_, and a _damn_, and a _please_. He knows he hears an _I love you _as she twists and turns. He whispers it back to her and she immediately calms and settles in his arms, her palm resting over his heart.

Sunday morning, he slips from the bed, collecting his son and Annie from their respective rooms on the way to the kitchen. Annie giggles and coos in Jamie’s old highchair while Nathan and Jamie prepare Peyton’s favourites for brunch. When she appears, wrapped (swamped!) in Nathan’s navy bathrobe, she finds hot coffee ready to pour, a platter of sliced tropical fruits and creamy scrambled eggs almost ready. Jamie’s in charge of the toast, which he’s got cooling just the right amount of time before he slathers it with butter. She likes it so the butter doesn’t completely melt into the toast. She’s touched that he’s tried so hard to get it just right.

But a few hours later, after one last family walk on the beach she loves so much, even if parts of the town itself can still make her wince, they’re pulling into the airport drop off zone. She’s pleaded with the guys not to stay, that she can’t bear the thought of them sitting there in sad, stony silence, counting down the minutes until her flight is called. It takes some doing, but Nathan eventually concedes defeat. He hauls her bag from the back of the Range Rover, and, while Jamie says his own almost brotherly farewell to Annie, Nathan pulls Peyton against him and holds her tight, his chin resting on her head, his eyes closed. He doesn’t, _can’t_, say a word.

He swaps places with Jamie, cuddling Annie and laughing as she pats his face and coos. Jamie launches himself into Peyton’s arms and tells her he’ll miss her and that he’ll never forgive her if she doesn’t at least come and visit. Her eyes meet Nathan’s over Jamie’s shoulder. Visiting is, somehow, not something they’ve discussed at all.

Jamie pulls Peyton’s heavy backpack out of the vehicle, while Nathan helps get Annie strapped into the carrier and then on to Peyton. Nathan can’t help but note how much bigger Annie is than what she was last time he did this, when they’d just landed in Tree Hill. Nearly four months ago now and, to him, it feels both much, much shorter and infinitely longer than that.

When they’re done, and her gear is loaded onto a trolley, Nathan thinking déjà vu the whole while, Peyton looks at her feet, then up at him, glassy eyed and still unable to speak. She smiles a watery smile, mouths ‘I love you’ and turns to head into the terminal.

Jamie nudges his father with his elbow and, when Nathan looks at him in question, the teenager tells his Dad to ‘just grab her and kiss her one last time’.

“You are such a Scott,” Nathan tells his boy.

“Am I wrong?”

“No.”

He strides after her, steps in front of her, leans around Annie and takes Peyton’s face between his large hands, crushing his mouth on to hers. He kisses her until she’s moaning into his mouth, until he’s breathless, until she’s breathless, and then a little longer still. Until he really,_ really_ has to break away and haul air into his lungs. She turns in his arms and leans back on his chest, allowing him to hold them both, her and her daughter, from behind for a couple of minutes while they regain their breath.

When she turns again, he can’t help but laugh when Annie reaches up and places one hand on his cheek and the other on her mother’s and then bats her little eyelashes at him.

“Okay,” he says, gently pushing hair back of Peyton’s face. “Off you go, you two.”

“Nate …”  
“I know. I love you, but I know. Now can you go before I don’t let you?”

She checks in her bags and the baby seat then heads straight to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face and take a few deep breaths. This is proving to be a whole lot tougher than she expected, not that she thought it was going to be a breeze. Not at all. She leans forward on the counter in the bathroom, staring at her own reflection, as if the answers are there. It’s the right thing to do. She’s been telling herself that all week. It’s the right thing to do. It’s just … it somehow feels more than just a bit off. Another few deep breaths, a few quiet words to Annie, and she’s heading out into the busyness of the airport, thinking maybe the hustle and bustle will stop her brain from racing.

The departures area is insanely busy, so much so that it hurts her head, so she wanders around for a little while, then notices that there is a lot less going on in arrivals. It seems everyone wants to leave Tree Hill today. She grabs a seat in a spot where there’s plenty to see to keep Annie amused, and settles down to wait until it’s time to head through to her departure gate. She’s distracted and zoning in and out a bit but thinks she’s been there only minutes when someone takes the seat next to her. She glances up with her ‘hello but please don’t start a conversation with me’ face and finds, to her horror, that it’s Lucas. She shakes her head and goes to stand, but he reaches out to stop her.

“Peyton. Five minutes,” he pleads. “Please. I won’t cause a scene. I promise.”

She takes her seat, sighing. “Why are you here, Lucas?”

“I’m heading out to New York to see my publisher. I just finished a new book. Then on to LA. Then to New Zealand to spend some time with my Mom, Andy and Lily.”

She breathes a little easier. Okay.

“Are you waiting for a friend?” he asks.

“Something like that.”

He looks puzzled at her reply but doesn’t push it.

“I owe you a huge apology,” he starts. She looks at him, her eyebrow raised. No shit, Sherlock, she’s tempted to say but it’s not the place and he said he wouldn’t cause a scene so she supposes she should take the same view. Not that he deserves the courtesy.

“For calling your ex,” he explains.

“Among other things,” she inserts drily.

“Fair enough.”

“Why anyone would do that is completely beyond me, Lucas. You had no right. He could have been an axe wielding murderer for all you know.”

He laughs but then looks at her with that trademark squint. “Why _did_ you break off the engagement?”

She considers giving him a vague ‘it wasn’t right’ sort of response but in the end she tells him. Bluntly.

“He hit me,” she says simply, meeting his eyes without apology.

It’s as if she’s punched him in the solar plexus. He looks completely mortified. “No, he … Oh God. Christ. I … Peyton, I’m …”

She holds her hand up to stop him. “Look. It wasn’t an ongoing thing. It was once. But once is once too often. You didn’t actually put me in jeopardy by contacting him. But the point is you _could have_. It was _not_ your place. And it was _not_ your business.”

“That’s why Nathan went with you,” he says quietly, having just put it together. “To the café. To make sure you were safe.”

“You were there?” she asks suspiciously.

“At a distance,” he shrugs.

“Why? So you could see your handiwork? What were you expecting; a joyously tearful reunion?”

“I don’t know,” he utters honestly.

“Then why did you contact him?”  
“Because I’m an idiot. I ... I just saw the way you and Nathan were at Whitey’s lunch and I ...”

“We behaved very circumspectly at that lunch,” she protests. “It was a family occasion.”

“That’s precisely it. You, Nathan, Jamie, Annie; you’re this amazing little family. It just … works. You take so much care with Jamie. And Nathan takes so much care with Annie. And you two together … it’s just crazy good, Peyton. He looks at you the way Keith looked at my Mom, and the way you look at him … well I don’t know how to describe it … except that it’s that hard to define, hard to find thing that we all want … and I guess jealousy is something I don’t deal with too well.”

“You don’t have any right to be jealous about me, Lucas. You gave up that right a really long time ago.”

“I know. I made some huge mistakes with you, with a lot of people, but most of all with you. This one though, it was more about jealousy of what you two have _together_ than about you specifically. That family thing, that care? That’s what I’ve always wanted. And seeing Nathan with that care and ... I don’t know ... intimacy and trust … with you … I just … it’s like I had this flare of a reaction that I’d rather _anyone_ had you but him. That’s why I contacted your ex. And believe me I know _exactly_ how awful that sounds.”

“It sounds _bitter_, Lucas.”

He’d hung his head during his explanation, and now twists his head up a little to look at her, a sad smile flashing momentarily.

“I am bitter,” he agrees. “I’ve become someone I don’t like very much. Maybe someone I don’t even recognise.”

“I recognise you.”  
“Yeah?” he asks with something that sounds a little like hope.  
“Yeah and it’s not a good thing, Lucas. You’ve turned into your father.”

He pales and laughs weakly.

“That bad, huh?”

“Manipulating other people’s lives? Unable to feel happiness for other people? Wallowing in self-pity? Bullying and threatening? Blaming other people for whatever’s wrong in your life. Sounds pretty like Dan Scott to me.”

“I don’t know how I got here, Peyton.”

“Nathan thinks it’s because you lost your dream, like Dan did.”

“Basketball?”

“And ... other things.”

“You,” he sighs. “Basketball and you.”

“That’s just what Nathan thinks,” she says, almost a little apologetically.

“I guess it makes sense. Dan lost basketball and my Mom. I lost basketball and you.”

“Lucas, it’s no excuse. I’m sorry, but the pity fest? I mean … I will never make excuses for Dan’s behaviour but _his_ father? Royal was an out and out bully, and Dan’s mother was too weak to counter that most of the time. Dan just did what he knew. You? You had the best Mom anyone could wish for. And you had Keith for long enough to know how to be a decent man. And you _used_ to be a decent man.”

He nods, not putting up any argument.

“I know you lost a lot, Lucas, but …”

“It’s no excuse, I know; to have lost a lot. We all have, all of that gang of five. But I’ve blamed everyone and everything other than myself. This last few weeks have brought that home to me.”

“Why the last few weeks?”

“I’ve been kidding myself for years that my brother was the bad guy that Haley turned good. And that I was the good guy that misfortune turned bad. But the thing is Nathan … even after everything _he’s_ had to deal with ... he’s never gone back to being the bad guy. And even though I’ve had so much go right in the last few years, I’ve never gone back to being the good guy I was. And your meeting at the café really made that clear to me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Nathan, sitting a table over, making sure you were safe and okay? Reminded me that … what … 14, 15 years ago, that was me … sitting a table over to make sure you were safe and okay, when you met who we thought was your brother. Nathan and I have traded places. And I know that trade probably happened a long time ago, but I’ve been too busy laying the blame elsewhere to see it, to take it in and accept it.”

“Why are you telling me this? What do you expect me to do with this?”

“I don’t know. I just saw you here after I checked my bags and before I knew it I was sitting down. I think … I don’t expect or deserve your understanding, Peyton. Nor your forgiveness. I know I’ve probably hurt you more than just about anyone else …”

“You know that’s why I left Tree Hill right? You get that? I sold the label I loved and left behind my friends and my hometown because of you, because you were being such a dick.”

“I know. And it was unforgiveable.”

“I will never understand how the guy I knew at high school could turn into that guy, Lucas. I know I hurt you, but I’d taken just as much hurt_ from_ you. I’d never have treated _anyone_ like that, let alone someone I had professed to love at some point.”

He nods, laces his fingers together then pulls them apart, takes a deep breath and admits aloud the thing that he’s never said to anyone before.

“At the time, all I could think of was that I’d made the biggest mistake of my life getting married to Lindsey, and I couldn’t bear to live a life that didn’t have you in it. And I ended up driving you away even more.”

She fidgets with Annie’s carrier for a bit, taking her daughter’s hands and clapping them together and kissing Annie’s head.

“Lucas … I dunno … there’s a little bit of me that is kind of relieved to hear you finally admit it. So I guess that’s good. But ... I’m not interested in rehashing the past.”

“No. I just … what you said before about blaming other people for what’s wrong? I want you to know that a couple of weeks back, seeing you and Nathan together … I was thinking how crappy and unfair it was that he got to have that, and I didn’t …”

“Lucas …”

He raised his hand to stop her.

“Let me finish? But I get it now. I do. I get that I have to stop deflecting like that. That’s why I’m going to spend time with my Mom again. She did a pretty great job of whipping the self-pity out of when I was a kid. She shouldn’t have to do it again now that I’m in my 30s, but I guess it’s like a 12-step program, right? Admit there’s a problem. Admit you don’t have any power?”

She smiles a little at that.

“Well, I guess if anyone can kick your sorry ass into shape it’ll be Karen.”

He nods and they share smiles that are a little easier and more genuine.

“Lucas. I’m sorry, too. For whatever part I played in ... all of it.”

He shakes his head.

“I can’t accept your apology, Peyton. Sure, there were times when you hurt me, but I think … I _know_ you took more hits from me than I ever had to take from you. You’re the most forgiving person I know; you always have been. I know if I’d made a genuine effort to be better back then, you’d never have left. I know what I cost you. I’m just … I want you to know that I truly am pleased for you and Nathan. You both deserve happiness. And it’s kind of amazing that you’ve come back to each other to find it.”

He stands, reaches out to smooth Annie’s hair.

“You have a beautiful daughter, Peyton, a gorgeous family. I hope you can believe that I mean that.”

“I do.”

“Well. I better head through to my gate. Thanks for … well ... you know.”

She nods. As he turns to go, she grabs his wrist and stops him.

“Luke, do you think you’ll ever come back to Tree Hill again?”

“Yeah but only when I know I can be that guy again, the one that grew up here.”

“Can I ask you to do one thing for me?”

“Sure.”

“Make it right with Brooke.”

This time he is able to smile entirely genuinely.

“I already did. I met with her on the way here. She was reluctant and I don’t blame her at all for that. But she was gracious enough to accept my apology.”

She stands and kisses him on the cheek. “I think maybe you’ve already taken a few steps towards being that guy again.”

“I’m trying.”

He returns her kiss on the cheek and places one on Annie’s head too.

“So maybe one day in the not too distant future I’ll get to call this one my what? Step-half-niece?” He starts backing away, smiling. “I kinda like the sound of that, Peyton Sawyer.” And he’s gone.

She sits down again. She kinda likes the sound of that too. But she’s sitting at the airport, about to leave it all behind.

“What am I doing, Annie? Huh?”

Annie pats her hands on her mother’s face and looks at her with a face that is terribly serious for an almost ten-month-old. Then she does something that makes Peyton’s mouth drop open.

“Mama.”

“Ohmigod.” She takes her daughter’s hands and claps them together. “Yes, Annie. Mama. I’m your Mama. And I love you, you gorgeous thing, you.”

And then she realises that all she wants to do is tell Nathan and Jamie that Anna said her first word. She even takes her phone out and goes to press the buttons. What is she _doing_? This is ridiculous.

Annie is patting Peyton’s face again, very excitedly, and gazing over Peyton’s shoulder.

“What are you looking at, munchkin?”

“Natnat.”

Peyton’s heart stops, she swears. She turns to look over her shoulder to where Annie’s looking, and sees a tall dark-haired guy. His build is very like Nathan’s. There’s a strong resemblance in his stance, build, haircut and colour and profile, but he turns and from the front he is nothing like him. She finds she can’t look away though, trying to decipher what’s going on with her own strange reaction to Annie’s utterance and the fleeting thought that Nathan might have come back to what? Say what? Do what? When he’d already said and done everything right, and all she’d done was shoot him down. She continues to stare until the guy, sensing her gaze, meets her eyes. He simply frowns a little and moves away. And she finds to her dismay that tears are threatening. If that _had _been Nathan, and a strange woman with a kid attached to her front had stared at him, he’d have smiled, and probably waved or pulled a funny face at the kid.

Nathan and Jamie have a quiet drive back to the beach house. When they get there, neither moves from the car. Jamie eventually looks at his Dad.

“I keep thinking your phone’s going to ring and it’s going to be her saying ‘get your asses back to the airport and pick us up.’”

“Me too, Jamie. But I don’t think …”

He’s cut off by his phone ringing, and he grins at his son. He grabs it, hits the green button.

“Peyt? Thank God.”

But it’s not her voice. It’s not even a female voice. He shakes his head at Jamie, who gets out of the car and heads inside, tapping away on his own phone as he goes. Nathan realises he hasn’t spoken in several seconds, and the voice on the phone is repeating his name, asking if he’s still there.

“Yeah. Sorry. Who is this? … Bobby? Wow, it’s been a while. How are you?”

Ten minutes later, he’s heading out of the car, looking at his phone with incredulity, and wondering if that call had come in yesterday, or even earlier today, if _everything _might be different. 

After the faux Nathan-spotting incident, Annie resumes patting her mother’s cheeks, while Peyton becomes aware of a bit of a disturbance amongst the crowd. She feels her phone vibrate in her pocket and pulls it out to check. It’s a text from Jamie. Reading it makes her want to both laugh and cry.

As she looks up again, she sees someone is running through the crowd creating a bit of a wave of noise. Within a few seconds, it becomes clear that that person is Lucas and he’s tearing back to her.

He stands for a second, regaining his breath.

“Luke? What are you doing?”

“Peyton, you’re crying.” She is too, they’re rolling down her cheeks and she wasn’t even aware they’d spilled over. “Did I make you ...?”  
“No. I just got a text from Jamie and Annie just said Mama.”

“Oh wow, first word? That’s cool.”

“Then she said Natnat.”

“Well that’s pretty special. Two words. She’s smart, like her Mom.”

“She thought that guy over there was Nathan, I think.”

He turns and looks. “Smart but maybe you want to get her vision checked. That guy looks nothing like Nathan.”

“He does from the back. Lucas, why have you come running back to here?”  
“I kept thinking about your backpack and your purse.”

“My backpack and purse?”

“You don’t bring a purse _and_ a fully laden backpack if you’re just meeting a friend off a plane. I bet if I pick up that backpack it weighs a ton. I bet it’s supplies for a long flight. And I bet your tickets are one way.”

She doesn’t answer him. He bends forward and tests the weight of the backpack, raising his eyebrows at her.

“Lucas …”  
“Don’t do it. Don’t run. He’s a _good_ guy and he _loves_ you. You’re a _great_ girl and you _love_ him. Don’t let me being an idiot ruin this for the both of you.”  
“It wasn’t you. It was only ever supposed to be a ...”  
“Peyton Elizabeth! It doesn’t matter what it was _supposed_ to be. It’s what it _is_ that matters. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love him.”

She does look him in the eye but shakes her head. She can’t say that, and she won’t even try.

“Peyton. You’re crying because your daughter just said his name and his son texted you. You seriously think you can leave this behind?”

“Oh God,” she gasps out in an odd hiccup laughing sob. “You’re right. He’s right and she’s right. What _the hell_ am I doing?”

“You’re getting a cab back to the beach house, that’s what you’re doing, you fool.”

“But my bags are checked.”

“C’mon.” He grabs her hand and her backpack and starts a brisk walk away from arrivals, glancing at the boarding pass she has in her hand and checking the airline.

“Where are you…?”  
“I just saw someone at the airline’s customer service desk that can get this sorted.”

He pulls her along behind him until they reach the desk, where a couple of uniformed customer service reps are chatting. As the second of the two turns around, Peyton recognises her face.

“That’s Glenda Farrell, the girl who read your first manuscript.”

Glenda hears her and looks up with a welcoming smile. She’s a much happier looking version of herself than she was all those years ago.

“Yup, it is. Hey Glenda.”

“Lucas Scott. You were just here a few minutes ago. Can’t keep away huh?”

“I need your help. You remember Peyton?”

“Of course. Hey Peyton. Are you two back together?”

Peyton’s about to answer when Lucas cuts her off.

“Nope. We’re not. ‘Cos I’m an idiot. Glenda, my flight’s being called in a matter of minutes, so I need to run through this real fast. For a long time, I thought this woman was the love of my life, right? But I was a dick to her in so many ways you simply wouldn’t believe it. But the important thing is that she can’t have been the love of my life anyway because the love of _her_ life is my brother. And they’re amazing. They’re perfect. But ... _she’s_ an idiot too because she was leaving. Now she’s not. She’s staying. But her bags are checked on her flight to …” he looks at Peyton, with his eyebrow raised in question, gesturing with his hand.

“LA.”

“On her flight to LA. So ... we need you to get her bags off that flight.”

“It’s not that easy,” Glenda begins, but Lucas is on full on persuasive mode and she doesn’t get far.

“Glenda. We know that if she doesn’t get on that flight, you have to unload her bags anyway, right? Security and all that. And that messes with the schedule. And the schedule is everything. So … it’s gonna be way less hassle for you to do it now. And the thing is, until you tell me you’re getting her bags off that flight, I’m not getting on my flight to New York either. So that’s two flights with their schedules possibly shot to hell. So ... can you help?”

Glenda stands, arms crossed, tapping her foot.

“Glenda. Do you know what’s in my backpack?” Lucas smiles disarmingly.  
“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me, Lucas Scott.”

“My new manuscript. You read my first one before anyone else. I will give you this manuscript if you help us out here. As long as you promise to destroy it when you’re done reading. My publisher would throw a fit if it got out before they started making money.”

She continues to tap and wait.

“Glenda. You are a tough negotiator,” he pouts winningly. “The lead female in this novel is currently called Kate. I will change her name to Glenda if you help us out here.”

“Who the hell would read a book with a lead female called Glenda, Lucas? You’re insane.”

“You can pick the name!” he exclaims.  
“Can you name her after my daughter?”

“Sure. What’s your daughter’s name? Please tell me it’s not Agatha or Myrtle ‘cos this girl is not an Agatha or a Myrtle.”

“Anna.”

Peyton laughs and gestures to Annie. “Mine too, Glenda. My daughter, I mean Anna, Annie usually, named after my Mom.”

“My Anna’s named after my Grandma; she was way better to me than my Mom. Lucas Scott, this is quite exciting; you haven’t published a new book in more than three years.”  
“I’ve been blocked. Totally blocked.”

“What happened?”  
He looks sideways at Peyton and squints a little.

“Let’s just say my muse came back over this summer. Now. I have to run to get my flight, _if_ I’m getting on it. Are you helping us out, Glenda? Am I getting on that flight knowing that the path of true love is proceeding smoothly in Tree Hill?”

“Give me that manuscript,” she sighs, extending a hand.

He pulls it out of his bag and hands it over, leaning over the counter and kissing her on the cheek. 

“You’re a legend, Glenda Farrell.”  
“Johnstone. Glenda Johnstone.”  
“You’re a legend, Glenda Johnstone.”

He turns and kisses Annie on the forehead. “Good work kiddo. You keep looking after your Mommy’s heart.”

He leans in and kisses Peyton’s cheek. “Tell my brother he’s a lucky guy … sis.” He turns to walk then turns back while he’s stepping backwards, “Hey, Peyton?”

“Luke?”  
“I’ll be seein’ ya.”

And, with a tilt of his chin, a quirked eyebrow and a squint of his blue eyes, he’s gone.

Peyton is left shaking her head, and smiling a little helplessly at Glenda, who immediately takes charge. She takes Peyton’s boarding pass with the baggage tags attached and picks up a phone, dialling a couple of numbers.

“Hey Frank …. 9201 to LA … looks like two cases and a ‘handle with care’ …”

“Baby car seat,” interjects Peyton.

“Baby car seat … yeah, yeah, Frank, just tell me if you’ve started loading yet … yes, it is a genuine emergency and not just some nincompoop changing their mind … no, I am not just a sucker for a tale of woe … Frank, they’re not getting on the plane so the bags have to come off anyway … just do it and tell me how long … perfect … thanks honey. Love you too.” She hangs up and grins at Peyton. “It helps when you’re married to the baggage handling shift leader. He’ll bring them round to the fragile and oversize counter in about 15 minutes.”

“Ohmigod. Glenda, you’re amazing.”

“I do okay,” the redhead shrugs as she turns to her colleague. “Hey, Kirsty, I’m taking my break. Be back in a bit. Now, Peyton Sawyer, let’s go get your bags and you can tell me all about this gorgeous little Annie. And I’ll tell you all about my gorgeous big Anna.”

Not quite an hour later, after multiple trips up the stairs with her gear, she stands at the beach house front door, feeling it wouldn’t be right to just walk in. So, she knocks, her heart pounding in her ears. Fairly quickly, thankfully, the door opens. It’s Jamie. His face lights up and he hugs her as tight as he can without crushing Annie.

“Peyton!”

“Nice text, kiddo.”

“You staying?”

“If your Dad will have me. I was … kind of dumb.”

“Kind of?” Jamie teases as he ushers her in and helps her undo the straps of Annie’s carrier. “He’s on the beach,” he tells Peyton. “Go find him. I’ll stay with Annie and bring in your stuff.”

“You sure?”

“With a bit of luck, she’s gonna be my sister one of these days, so yeah. I’m sure.”

“Jamie … that’s a bit of a leap.”

“If you think that’s a leap, Peyton, you’re _still _being kind of dumb.”

“Hey! What happened to respecting your elders?”

“Just go find my Dad. He went left at the end of the pier if that’s any help.”

“Yeah, it is,” she smiles. “I think I know just where he is.”

She walks for a while, and there he is; at the spot they used to sit at years and years ago, when they were moody kids that didn’t really know what to do with their feelings. She sits next to him. He turns, shock registers, but he says nothing.

“Hey,” she murmurs.

No answer.

“So,” she says taking a long breath. “It’s official. I’m an idiot.”

“For going, Sawyer? Or for staying?”

“For _trying_ to go. How come my daughter and your son are both so much smarter than me?”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Annie said Mama at the airport.”

“Smart kid. First word at ten months.”

“Yup. My kid says Mama and all I wanted to do was tell you.”

“That’s why you’re here? You could’ve done that by phone. Or text.”  
“Her second word was Natnat.”

He’s trying really hard to play this cool because he doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s hoping. But you just never know with Peyton Sawyer. For all he knows the flight was cancelled and she’s heading out again tomorrow. But he can’t stop the big smile when he hears Annie’s second word was his name, or her very cute version of.

“I seem to recall telling you your daughter had great taste in men,” he says wrily. “And Jamie?”

“He’s quite the matchmaker.” She pulls her phone out of her pocket and shows him Jamie’s text.

_My Dad’s not the only Scott boy who loves the two Sawyer girls. Please don’t get on the plane, P. Come home instead. JLSx_

“He’s quite the wordsmith,” Nathan says. “Hopefully that’s the only trait he’ll have that’s like his uncle.”

“He’s his father’s son, Nathan. He’ll be an amazing man. He’s already well on the way. But just so you know, in the interests of full disclosure, Luke was at the airport.”

“Excellent. What an awesome way for your summer to end.”

“He was … surprising. He went to see Brooke to apologise and put things right. He apologised to me, too. He … I think he might actually have turned a corner.”

“I had missed calls from him this morning, but I wasn’t in the mood.”

“Yeah. I have to admit I wasn’t either, when I saw him. But ... well … short version; he’s a part of why I’m here.”

“If you’re going to tell me you’re …”  
“God no! Don’t even finish that sentence. He just … made a very strong case for why you’re the guy for me.”

“We’re talking about the same guy, right? Dirty blond hair in a crappy trendy haircut that looks like rubbish, and a shitty attitude to go with it?”

“Yeah. Like I said. I think he might have turned a corner. He’s heading to New Zealand to spend time with Karen and get a crash course in how to be a better guy and make your Mom proud of you again.”

There’s silence for a while. Eventually he can’t stand it any longer.

“What do you want to happen next, Peyton?”

“I want to stay,” she says simply. “With you. If you’ll have me.”

“For how long this time?”

“Well that kind of depends on you,” she says, taking one of his hands between her two.

“On me? I … I know I’m not the world’s most articulate guy but … I tried … I thought I made my thoughts, feelings about you, and us, fairly clear.”

“And I pretty much threw them in your face with my ‘Tree Hill is the vortex of all evil and that’s bigger than anything you can possibly feel for me’ rant.”

He doesn’t reply. She waits. Still nothing.

“Okay Nate. I have three questions for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Did I fuck it up too much?”  
“No.”

“Did I fuck you off too much?”

“No.”

She stops for a moment, taking a deep breath.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, before she can continue. “I got a phone call a while ago, when I got back from the airport. I … I think if I’d got that call yesterday it might have changed everything.”

“Oh God,” she says, “Haley? She still wants you back.”

“What? I thought you and I, we, dealt with that?”

“A phone call that might have changed everything?”

“You’re an idiot in more ways than one, Sawyer. I told you. I don’t care if Haley still wants me back. You remember when I played in the D-league, way back?”

“Sure.”

“You remember my old coach then, Bobby?”

“I don’t think I ever met him, but I remember the name.”

“The call was from him. He’s been approached by a friend who’s a college coach looking for a new guy. They know I used to play for him, they know I coach and have asked him if he’ll make the introduction.”

“_Coaching college ball_? Nathan, that’s amazing! But … the season’s right around the corner … isn’t it a bit late for anyone to be ...?”

“Bobby’s friend is the coach. They need a new assistant. The guy they have? His wife’s just been diagnosed with breast cancer. It’s quite advanced but they are still quite hopeful. They have kids so he wants to take a long sabbatical while they fight it. So … you’re right; it’s only a month or so ‘til they need someone on board and trying to get a decent experienced college coach this close to the season is impossible. They’re all locked into contracts and won’t break them for a short deal. So, they’re looking at high school coaches with a few years under their belt and a …”

“And a kickass record. Three State champs in 5 years, Nathan. You’re top of the list. So, it would be for how long?”

“Guarantee’s only a year. But the coach is nearing retirement, so chances are that between me, and when the assistant is ready to come back, there’d still be a job, either assistant coach or coach.”

“You allowed to tell me which college?”  
“No. But,” he smiles, “if I told you it would make a very old dream of mine, a dream I thought was long dead, come alive again …”  
“Duke? Ohmigod, Nathan …”  
“I can neither confirm nor deny that, Miss Sawyer. And if I did tell you, I’d have to kill you. And that would kind of suck ‘cos I quite like you being alive when you’re in my bed.”  
“Oh good. ‘Cos if you didn’t that would really be kind of creepy. So … Durham? Have you talked to Jamie?”

“No. I will, of course. I just didn’t think today was the day to pile on something big with him. If he’s got any issues with it, I won’t go, but … I think he’ll be keen. I mean, it’s still a move … but it’s not far and he could keep in touch with his mates. And it means we’d actually be closer to Coop and Kelsey in Charlotte. Mom’s there a lot. She may even move if we go. We could still come back to the beach house for summers.”

“It sounds kind of perfect.”

“And it’s not Tree Hill, that notorious vortex of evil, which kind of blows all your excuses to smithereens, Sawyer.”

She stands, not letting go of his hand, then holds out her other hand to him, which he takes, and follows her up to a standing position.

“I have one question left, right?” she says.

“You do.”

“I want you to know that this question was going to be the next question anyway, and despite the events of the last few hours or days or whatever, I know it’s the rightest question I’ve ever asked anyone, and yes I do know rightest isn’t a word. But … what you just told me makes it even more right.”

“Spit it out already, Sawyer.”

“Nathan Scott, will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

Quiet again.

“Did that just happen?” she asked.

“You said three questions. That’s four.”

“One more?”

“I’m feeling generous. Go ahead.”

“Will you hurry up and kiss me?”


	18. It Must Be Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jamie Scott,” she sighs, pulling him to her side for a second, “you are the second most amazing guy I know!”  
“I guess that’s okay,” he responds, blushing a little, “as long as the most amazing guy you know is my Dad.”  
“Are you too old for a really big hug?”  
“Skills says you’re never too young or too old to hug pretty women.”  
“Oh, he does, does he? I might have to have a word with Skills Taylor; corrupting my stepson.”  
She opens her arms and Jamie launches himself into them.  
“Thank you.”  
“For what, Jamie?”  
“Coming back.”  
“Thank you for asking me to.”

When they get back to the house, Jamie has Annie buckled into the highchair, and is feeding her banana slices and chopped up avocado. His back is to the door onto the deck and he’s so wrapped up in his work that he doesn’t notice them at first. Annie, who is facing them, waves her arms enthusiastically and chortles.

“Mama. Natnat.” Jamie turns and smiles at them.

“Oh wow.” Nathan’s grin is huge. Hearing it himself is beyond great. He drops a kiss onto Peyton’s head, disentangles his fingers from hers and heads straight to Annie, taking the plate from Jamie’s hand.

“Oh right,” Peyton laughs, “I’m clearly your second favourite Sawyer, right now.”

“Damn straight. This one made you come back. She’s on my team.”

Jamie looks from his Dad to Peyton. “So, are we all good now then?” he asks, with a grin. “I’m assuming so, given the _hand holding_ and all.”

“Actually, Scott Junior,” Peyton begins, “you wanna come outside with me for a bit?”

He looks at his Dad, who shrugs. He has no idea why his fiancée (fiancée!) is asking his son to head outside.

“Peyton? You’re not going to tell me you’re going again, are you?”

“Sit with me, kiddo.” She pats the space next to her on the love seat.

“That sounds ominous,” he mumbles with a worried expression.

“Nope. At least I don’t think so. And by the way, what fourteen-year-old boy … young man … uses words like ominous? So … I just … Jamie, you’re amazing with Annie and I really appreciate it.”

“She makes it kind of easy.”

“Well. Yeah … but still. So, I have something to tell you and something to ask you. And your Dad only knows about the first bit, so I need to warn you about that in case that makes you uncomfortable.”  
He shakes his head, and shrugs casually. “I trust you.”

“Oh good. ‘Cos the first bit is that I just asked your Dad if he’d marry me.”

“Um … isn’t he supposed to ask you?”  
“I’m a very modern missy, you know. And … I figured I’d put him through enough; it was time for me to step up.”

He’s grinning anyway, but her explanation just makes that grin wider.

“So, you’re going to be my wicked step monster then?”

“Well he said yes, so I guess so. I’m sensing that you’re okay with this then?”

“Hell yeah!”

“Best we keep that response between you and me, I think.”

He grins his thanks then asks her what the other thing was.

“So, before I went down to the beach to find Nathan, you said something about Annie being your sister one of these days.”

“Stepsister’s pretty close, right?”

“It is but the thing is, and like I said, I haven’t raised this with your Dad yet … and I will only do that if it’s okay with you, like … _really_ okay. The thing is … Annie’s father, her biological father, isn’t involved at all. He waived any legal rights. Do you know what that means?”

“I guess it means you make all the decisions for her.”

“Exactly. And one of the decisions I’d like to make, if you’re happy with it, is to ask Nathan if he wants to formally adopt Annie.”

“She’d legally be my proper sister?”

“Uh-huh. And I think it would make it absolutely certain that, if anything happened to me, she could stay with you and your Dad.”

“Okay. I get it.”

“So have a think and let me know. There’s no rush. And there’s no pressure. It’s a big deal and I don’t want you to feel like we’re …”

“I don’t need to think about it. I want you to ask Dad.”

“Jamie … I think you should take a little …”

“Peyton! I know. I know how crappy Dad and I both felt when we left you and Annie at the airport. You and Annie? You already feel like my family. The more official it is, the better. _That’s _what I think.”

“Jamie Scott,” she sighs, pulling him to her side for a second, “you are the second most amazing guy I know!”

“I guess that’s okay,” he responds, blushing a little, “as long as the_ most_ amazing guy you know is my Dad.”

“Are you too old for a really big hug?”  
“Skills says you’re never too young or too old to hug pretty women.”

“Oh, he does, does he? I might have to have a word with Skills Taylor; corrupting my stepson.”

She opens her arms and Jamie launches himself into them.

“Thank you.”

“For what, Jamie?”

“Coming back.”

“Thank you for asking me to.”

Nathan appears in the doorway, Annie in his arms. “Is this an exclusive club or can we join you?”

“Actually,” answers his son, nudging Peyton subtly with his elbow, “I’ve got some stuff to do in my room.” He walks past his father, tickling Annie’s toes as he passes. At the bottom of the stairs he stops and yells out.

“Hey Dad?”

“Uh-huh?”  
“Do I get dibs on best man?”

Nathan mock glares at Peyton. “You told him?”

“Privilege of the proposer?” she asks with a cheeky smile.

“Marginal call, Sawyer.”

“There’s a reason why. Sit with me, Scott.”

“Jamie?” he calls as he takes a seat, as close to her as he possibly can. “You absolutely get to be best man. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”  
“Don’t ever let me hear you say _dibs _again, you big girl.”

“Cool.” And he heads up the stairs.

“Why do I get the feeling he left so we could be alone? And … explain yourself! Why’d you tell him? Without me there, I mean.”

“He did and are you really mad?”

“Maybe,” he teases, but then sees her worried look. “No. Not at all. Just trying to reestablish supremacy before you’re totally wearing the trousers.”

“Well … I do recall seeing a photo of you in a Girl Scout uniform once; a skirt can work for you! Look … I told Jamie that _I _asked _you _because I wanted him to know how completely on board I am with you and him.”

“Okay.”

“And because there’s something else I want to ask you about, but I wanted Jamie’s blessing first.”

“What’s going on, Peyt?”

“I wondered if, when you make it official with me, you might want to make it official with Annie too?”

“Doesn’t us getting hitched make it official? You’ll be Jamie’s stepmom. I’ll be Annie’s stepdad.”

“But you could … if you were okay with it, I mean … you could be Annie’s Dad. You could adopt her … if you wanted to. I mean, it’s okay if you don’t …”

He stops her by kissing her. It’s just the most effective way when she’s rambling like that.

“Are you sure that’s what you want, babe?” he asks, looking deep into her eyes. “I mean; we … I can’t give that to you with Jamie.” She nods her understanding.

“I am. It’s the best thing for her. It would make me really happy. And Jamie seemed completely on board. I said he should take some time but he …”

He just grins and reemploys his kissing technique to make her stop talking. “I’d love to adopt Annie. It would be a privilege to her Dad.”

“Really?”

“You doubted I’d say yes?”  
“It’s a big deal, Nathan.”

“Yeah. But then so are we, right?”

She nods and smiles and leans into his shoulder. He pops Annie onto her lap so he can encircle them both in his strong arms.

“Besides, Sawyer, I think I need to get used to saying _yes_ to you.”

She giggles and tips her face up, turning his face so she can kiss him.

“I think I might owe you a few yeses, Scott.”

“I’ll cash them in soon enough,” he smirks.

“Smutty!”  
“Hey! That was a perfectly innocent comment!”

“Nathan Scott and perfectly innocent? Hmm. Let me think about that,” she says rolling her eyes. “I think … no!”

“Alright, I’ll cash them in now. Peyton Sawyer, will you go ring shopping with me tomorrow?”

“Why _yes_, Nathan Scott, I believe I will.”

“And if I was to suggest we do it on this deck,” he chuckles and she knows he’s thinking back to an earlier joke about _doing it_ on the deck, “_get married_ on this deck, I mean, in, say, a month … what would you say to that?”

“You think I won’t do it that fast … but I’d say yes to that too!”

“Is that two yeses apiece?”

“Hmm,” she says, “Marriage and adoption for you. Ring and date for me. Yup two apiece. I have one more for you though.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m thinking us in jeans and white shirts for the wedding would be kind of great.”

“Ohmigod. No tux? You are seriously the perfect woman.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Hell yes! And can I be there when you tell Brooke there’s not going to be beautiful frocks, ‘cos that’s going to be hilarious.”

“Yeah. I’m not brave enough for that. I’m thinking we invite everyone for a casual _wear jeans and your brightest shirt_ engagement party and don’t tell them it’s really the main event. And we just disappear and change into white shirts and …”

“Sneaky. I love it.”

“Hey! When are you going to talk to Jamie about Durham?”

“You think he’s okay enough with all of this for me to add to the excitement now?  
“Yeah, I do. But why don’t you take him down to the Rivercourt? Hang out for a bit first.”

“You don’t want to come?”

“Next time. I kinda want to hang out with my daughter for a bit, if that’s okay.”

“You mean our daughter.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“Dunno. But keep doing it ‘cos you’re perfect and I love you.”

“I love you too. Truly. Do you love me enough to make a phone call for me?”

“Maybe. What is it?”

She tells him what she thinks he should do. He’s not entirely convinced at first, but she reminds him that, as he has said himself, she’s a good judge of character. She says she’s not wrong about this. The corner has been turned. The legacy can continue. And anyway, if it all turns to crap in Tree Hill, they’re going to be in Durham anyway. Durham’s not a lock yet, he reminds her; he still has to interview. She just shakes her head at his modesty. Of course, it’s a lock.

“Tell you what,” he says, “I’ll make that call for you if you make one for me.”  
“Me? Call who?”

“Someone that can make arrangements for your stuff to be shipped from LA.”

“Sneaky, Scott.”  
“Yep. You gonna do it?”  
“Yes. As soon as we have a Durham address for me to ship it to. Is that good enough for you?”

“I’d better knock it out of the park at that interview then,” he grins.

“I think you mean slam dunk.”

When she wakes the next morning, in _their _bed, it’s to the sensation that she’s being watched. And she is. Nathan’s lying on his side, head propped on his hand, watching her … _gazing_ at her. And the look on his face makes her screw up her nose, blush, and pull the sheet over her face. Sometimes he just makes her feel like a shy teenager again. He merely laughs at her and she pulls the sheet down from one of her eyes and peeks out at him.

“Morning,” she half whispers, half laughs.

“Morning,” he grins. “Fiancée.”

She frowns and pulls her hand out from the covers to jab him lightly in the pec.

“That is a very odd name for a woman,” she teases. “It sounds French. Who is this hussy ‘Fiancée’ of whom you speak? Tell her to show her face and tell her to prepare for a fight.”

“A fight?” he repeats, grinning, eyebrow quirked.

“I may have nearly lost you to my own stupidity, Nathan; I’m not losing you to a French floozy. I reckon I can take her.”

“I reckon you can take just about anyone.”

“Remember that when the Duke cheerleaders go for the studly new assistant coach, huh?”  
“Loving the confidence, babe, but I still have to ace that interview.”

“C’mere,” she says, reaching for him and pulling his mouth to hers.

The kiss is slow and leisurely, just starting to turn heated when they’re rudely interrupted.

“Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer! You’d better get your ass down here right now or I’m coming up there to stop whatever shenanigans you too are up to!”

Nathan flops back on to the mattress and sighs. Peyton giggles.

“Damn Davis,” he mutters. “Word gets around fast in this town.”

“I’m so sorry …” she laughs. “I should’ve …”  
“Yeah,” he grumbles, “you should’ve.”

He turns his head to look at her, faking ill humour, but nothing’s hiding the underlying contentment. She throws back the covers and takes a couple of steps, her golden tanned skin making him groan.

“I’ll go and …” she starts.

“Don’t think for a minute that you’ll be able to get rid of her,” he interrupts. “Just put the coffee on. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Hi Brooke,” she says cheerily as the descends the stairs. “Coffee?”

“_’Hi Brooke?_’” the brunette returns in mock outrage. “_’Hi Brooke_,’ she says all innocently. What the hell, Peyton? I come over to check up on Nathan and make sure he’s okay after you _desert_ us, and what do I find out when Jamie opens the door, but that Nathan is still in bed and that you’re there with him!”

Peyton merely smiles, pulls Brooke into a hug, kisses her on the cheek then crosses into the kitchen where she fills the kettle and puts it on to boil.

“So … coffee?” she asks.

“Yes! Coffee! And an answer to my question; what the hell?”  
“Someone got my head right.”  
“I … me?” Brooke says in excitement. “I got your head, right! It was me, wasn’t it? God, I’m good.”

“Nope, sorry Brookie. It was Lucas.”

“I … Lucas? But … how?”  
“Airport,” she shrugs. “He guessed I was bailing and took me to task and … yeah. I hear he apologized to you. I hope he did it right?”

“Um … yeah, actually. He … he really did. Shades of the old Lucas. You think he might ...?”  
“Yeah. I really do.”  
“Well, good. So … you’re staying, and we can have a girl’s day today and you can catch me up on all the goss!”  
“Ah, no, you can’t,” Nathan says as he approaches the counter, clad in jeans, pulling a sky blue T-shirt on as he walks.

“But …”  
“No, Brooke,” he says firmly. “We’re going shopping this morning and no, you can’t come with us.”

“But I’m the best at shopping! Especially clothes. It’s clothes, right? Not for you either, Hotshot. I’ve seen your current wardrobe and it’s perfect and I still don’t believe P. Sawyer is responsible for that but I’m guessing now that she’s staying it’s her turn to be outfitted and I can not trust _you_ to do that; she’ll be living in bikini tops and short shorts.”

He grins.

“Nothing wrong with bikini tops and short shorts, Davis,” he teases. “But no, we’re not shopping for clothes.”

“A car for P?” the brunette guesses as Peyton tends to the coffees, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Groceries?” she tries again when she gets no response other than the soppy gaze that passes between her two friends. “Condoms?” she adds cheekily, as Peyton passes her a steaming mug.

Nathan takes his mug from Peyton, wraps his other hand around the back of her neck, leans across the counter and kisses her quickly.

Brooke rolls her eyes and makes a barfing sound and Nathan grins and wriggles his eyebrows.

“Just for that,” he teases, then places his mug on the counter, takes Peyton’s face between his hands and leans in again, this time kissing her long and slow.

“Fine,” Brooke huffs when they finally part. “Don’t tell me then.”  
Nathan retrieves his mug and takes a long sip, locks eyes with Peyton then speaks.

“Diamonds.”

“You’d better not be talking tennis bracelet, Scott,” Brooke fires back.  
“I don’t even know what that is,” he retorts.

“Oh my God!” Brooke shrieks excitedly. “She came back and you proposed?!”

“Nope,” Nathan shrugs.  
“I … then what …?”  
“She came back and _she _proposed,” he grins.

Brooke’s jaw practically drops and her gaze swivels from Nathan to a quiet but grinning Peyton and back.

“Holy shit,” she eventually says. “That is … that is … wow. And you’re sure I can’t come with you?”

“Brooke!” Peyton laughs. “No!”

“Then … I’ll look after Annie while you two go?”  
“You know what?” Peyton says, almost apologetically, “I love that you want to spend time with her, and I would say yes, but … I’d really like her there with us for this. Is that … do you …?”  
“It’s okay, P. Sawyer,” Brooke smiles. “I get it. There must be something I can do though … like … I could design …”  
“There is,” Peyton interrupts before her friend starts talking wedding dresses. “You can put your party planning skills to good use and organize an engagement party. For one month from now.”

“A month!? Nowhere will be …”

“Here,” Peyton says, reaching across to rest her hand on Brooke’s forearm. “Just here. On the deck. Casual but nice. Good wine. Good food. Jeans and bright shirts for a fun, laid back party and a cool, colourful photo.”

“Hmmm,” Brooke mutters, looking between them. “Okay. But really good wine – champagne. And caterers. Okay? Don’t even think about saying no. You have to let me have my way on _something_.”

“_We_ have to let _you_ have _your_ way for _our_ engagement?” Nathan laughs.

“Yes!”

“Sounds about right,” he chuckles.

Brooke brings her mug to her mouth and watches a look pass between her friends. She swallows then watches as Peyton reaches out and rests her slender hand atop Nathan’s. Another secretive, knowing look passes between them.

“You’re hiding something,” the brunette declares, putting her mug down.

“What?” Peyton says, just a tiny bit caught off guard by the sounds of her voice.

“Yes,” Brooke states with certainty. “What’s up? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Brooke …”  
“Fine,” Nathan sighs, interrupting Peyton. “But you have to swear not to tell anyone. And I mean it, Davis. _No one_.”

“You’re pregnant!” Brooke shrieks.

“What? No!” Peyton laughs. “Geeze.”

“Brooke,” Nathan says, “I’ve got an interview in a couple of days.”  
“A job interview?”  
“Yeah. Assistant coach. College ball.”  
“Isn’t the season about to start?”

“I love that all my friends know this stuff,” he chuckles. “Yeah. It’s close. Look, it’s a long story, and I’ll tell you more later, but there’s an interview in a couple of days and if I get it, we’ll … we’ll be moving. So, the engagement party … maybe, it’ll be a leaving Tree Hill party too.”  
“Moving to where, exactly?” Brooke asks nervously. “I feel like I just got you guys back and …”  
“It’s close,” he grins. “Don’t worry. Just to Durham.”  
“Durham?” Brooke gasps. “Seriously? Nathan! Oh my God, that’s …”  
“Calm the farm, Davis. I’ve got to get it first.”  
“You’ll get it. Oh my God! You’ll be close and …”  
“Brooke?” Peyton stops her. “Close? Does that mean _you’re_ staying here? Not going back to New York?”  
“Well,” the brunette tosses her hair, “you’re not the only ones who can make big, humongous, momentous, life-changing decisions without consulting anyone, now are you!?”

“What are you …?”  
“Nope!” Brooke teases. “Go get ready to go diamond-shopping with your gorgeous studly fiancé who’s going to be a college ball coach and your gorgeous supermodel baby who you won’t let model for me, and while you’re out get some decent red wine.”  
“Wine? Why?”

“Pizza and red wine night tonight. Here. The three of us. And Jamie … oh shit. Nathan, I was supposed to tell you, Jamie let me in and he asked me to tell you he was going to the River Court for the morning and then for burgers with his mates and he’ll be back early afternoon. So yeah, us three and Jamie. Pizza and red wine. Except not red wine for Jamie and …”

“Okay, Brooke,” Nathan says laying his hands on her shoulders, turning her around, collecting her handbag and placing it in her hands. “Off you go now,” he says, pushing her gently towards the hallway to the front door. “No more caffeine for you today. We’ll get red wine. You get pizza on the way back to here tonight. See you about 6. We’ll show you diamonds. You can tell us all about your … what was it? Big, humongous, momentous life-changing plans? And no doubt by then you’ll have our entire engagement party planned out and locked down.”

She turns around and grins and laughs.

“You know what?” she asks. “I never thought I’d say this, especially after trying so hard to talk old used to be blondie over there into staying, but I’m gonna be crossing all my fingers and toes for you and I really, really hope you both get the hell out of Tree Hill and go live in Durham!”

“Yeah,” he says. “Me too. Thanks Brooke.”


	19. It's All About to Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have a serious question for you, Sawyer.”  
“No, I don’t think it’s bad luck for us to be together the night before the wedding. We agreed.”  
“I want to know if you think we’re rushing this?”  
She tenses and tries to turn in his arms but he holds her fast.  
“Are you trying to tell me, the night before we get married, that you think we’re rushing this?” she asks suspiciously, nervously.  
“No,” he says firmly. “I’m asking you to tell me honestly if you think we are.”

**One month later**

He’s sprinting along the corridor, thinking that of all the days for his alarm to malfunction, it would have to be today. New job; day one. He hits the last corner, slides around it and bursts through the door into the back of a room that is full of faculty. Just as the door bangs shut, the suited woman at the front of the room stands and turns to face the room. She catches the latecomer’s eye; he mouths “sorry” and grins in his appealing way. She nods briefly. Looks like he got away with it; _just_.

“Good morning, folks. Let’s get underway, shall we? Welcome to the new academic year. As you know, today is about discussing our expectations, well ... let’s be real … that’s _my_ expectations for the coming year.” There’s a ripple of polite laughter. She’s not particularly funny.

“We have a few new faculty members, so let’s get them to introduce themselves. As you know in these days of cutbacks and tightened budgets, we’re looking to faculty to be flexible and diverse and contribute outside of their main area of expertise, so it pleases me that our three newbies have several strings to their bow. Shall we start with you Coach Scott?”

“Sure,” he answers. “Thank you. So ... Lucas Scott … AKA Luke if you’d prefer … AKA graduate of Tree Hill High class of 2007. I’m the new Ravens coach, though also an old Ravens coach. My record in my previous five-year tenure was one State champ plus one State champ final. And yes, I’m fully aware that my little brother’s record over the last five years is better. And yes, you can be sure that I want boasting rights and fraternal rivalry will keep me pretty focused.”

There’s a strong and appreciative laugh from the room.

“I’ll also be taking some freshman gym classes, and some freshman English and Lit classes.”

The principal smiles her thanks. “Pete?”

A dark-haired man sitting in the middle of the room stands.

“Pete Chalmers. Fresh in from the West Coast. Sciences; Chem and Bio. I’ll be teaching Freshman and Sophomore bio, Chem from Freshman through to Senior and running the AP Chem program. And helping out the AV club.”

There’s a good supportive round of applause for Pete, then the principal gestures to a woman in the front row. She sweeps her dark auburn hair back off her shoulder, stands and turns to face the room, throwing a cheeky look at the new/old Ravens coach.

“Rachel Gatina. Also graduate of Tree Hill High class of 2007. Math, mainly Calc but also some Algebra. Teaching all AP Calc classes. Also new deputy HoD Math.”

“Miss Gatina,” the principal reminds her as she’s about to resume her seat, “you forgot your nonacademic responsibilities.”

“Of course. Apologies. I’ll also be providing input and support to the basketball cheerleading squads; JV and varsity.” Again, she flashes a cheeky look towards Lucas, who can only shake his head and smile.

The principal runs through the day’s agenda, suggests they all take five to grab a coffee, then head to their respective departments for meetings with new and returning HoDs. As Rachel files past Lucas she grins widely.

“Coach Scott. Looking … _almost _as good as you used to.”  
“Ms Gatina. Looking … almost as hot as _you_ used to.”

“Relationship status, Coach?”  
“Single, Miss Gatina. And you?”  
“Single and looking, Coach, single and looking. Could be an interesting year.”

“Indeed, Miss Gatina. Indeed.”

“Plans this weekend, Coach Scott?”

“An engagement slash farewell party on Saturday afternoon and evening. Otherwise free.”

**Friday, the day before the engagement slash farewell slash wedding**

Peyton went to bed a while ago, and Nathan’s been ... well … nothing really. Just wandering around the house, thinking about how everything has turned out. How tomorrow he gets to be joined to this amazing woman for the rest of his life, for the rest of _their_ lives, how he really couldn’t have come up with a better ‘other half’ for him and ‘other mother’ for Jamie if he’d been given the opportunity to create one to order.

If someone had taken them aside a decade and a half ago and shown them a little window into the future and they’d had a peek at this? They’d both have laughed in that person’s face, he knows. But they’re still young, and they’ve got years …_ decades_ ahead of them. And he’s heading up to bed, to lie next to his high school girlfriend who became his best friend who became his ‘don’t know what this is but it’s great’ sidekick who became his fiancée and who tomorrow will become his wife.

He’s just reached the top of the stairs when he hears voices coming from the guestroom. Not raised. But definitely not just a casual chat between father and daughter. She must have decided to let her Dad know what was happening tomorrow. Nathan really wasn’t sure which way she’d go. In the end he decided he would tell just Deb and Jamie, and they were both beside themselves with excitement. It sounds like Peyton’s Dad is not quite so enamored with the idea. He can’t make out Peyton’s side of the conversation, but Larry’s words are crystal clear.

_“Chicken, I’m sorry but I’m not comfortable with this.”_

_“I think it’s something you’ll regret.”_

_“I realise I can’t actually stop you; you’re a grown woman. But you have to understand that you can’t make me accept it.”_

_“Not after your high school years, I can’t.”_

_“It’s not that, honey. We’ve all changed. But I can’t just forget about letting you down like that.”_

He still can’t hear her words, but he hears the tone. She’s cut this exchange off and marches out of the room, turns down the hallway and into their own room. She doesn’t spot her intended who’s stranded at the top of the stairs, unable to move. The door to the guest room closes, thankfully, and Nathan heads quietly down the hall to the master bedroom.

She’s in the bathroom and he takes the opportunity to quickly close the bedroom door, turn off the lights, strip and get under the covers before she comes back in. She never takes long to get ready for bed and he wants to be waiting for her.

As always, when she opens the bathroom door and is momentarily backlit before she hits the light switch, she takes his breath away.

“Hey,” she says. “You appeared quickly.”

“C’mere.” He holds the covers back and, when she’s in, he draws her backwards into his arms, wrapping them around her and holding her tight. “I have a serious question for you, Sawyer.”

“No, I don’t think it’s bad luck for us to be together the night before the wedding. We agreed.”

“I want to know if you think we’re rushing this?”

She tenses and tries to turn in his arms but he holds her fast.

“Are you trying to tell me, the night before we get married, that _you _think we’re rushing this?” she asks suspiciously, nervously.

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m asking you to tell me honestly if _you _think we are.”

“Of course, I don’t think we’re rushing it. I’d never have agreed to the date if I thought that. Nathan … loosen up those muscle-bound arms of yours so I can turn around and see you …”

He complies, and she’s immediately holding his face in those tender hands of hers.

“Nathan. I love you. I have no doubts about this, or the timing, or anything else.”

“Even if you’re doing this without your Dad’s blessing?”

“What are you talking about? My Dad’s thrilled to bits.”

He pulls back, disbelief etched on his face.

“How can you lie to my face like that? God, you’re good. I can’t even tell.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I heard your Dad just before. He’s not on board with this. You can’t just sweep that under the rug and lie to me about it.”

“I’m not!”

“Then what did I hear?”

“Well I don’t know, Nathan. What _did _you hear?”

“That he’s not comfortable with it, thinks you’ll regret it, that he can’t accept it, that he can’t forget me letting you down back in high school.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Gee thanks. Add insult to injury, why don’t you? Look. All I’m saying is if you need time for me to prove to him that I’m not that guy anymore, then we can do that.”

“No. What you’re saying is that I’m lying to you the day before we get married. What sort of start’s that? If you don’t believe me?”

“I know what I heard.”

“You heard wrong. Eavesdroppers often do.”

“Then what was that?”

“That was my Dad refusing to let me partially fund an apartment in Charlotte for him. He’s not _comfortable_ taking the money and won’t _accept_ it, thinks I’ll _regret_ the investment, and basically that he thinks he doesn’t deserve my support because he feels _he_ let me down during high school, by being away so much.”

“Oh God. I _am_ an idiot.”

“Can I have a signed statement to that effect?”

“If it means you’ll forgive me for being a prize jerk and accusing you ...”

“Look at me. I’m telling you right here and now. I will never lie to you.” She stops and ponders. “Except that I reserve the right to sometimes keep little secrets for surprises.”

“I’m not a huge fan of surprises.”

“You could make exceptions for the kinds of surprises I’m thinking of. You know … grown up weekends away. Shopping in upmarket lingerie stores. Birthday gifts that come with extras.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Not after that little stunt, you don’t. Look. We’ve been through way too much together and apart, over a long, long time, to be holding back now. We’ve seen each other at our absolute worst and our absolute best. Honestly, Nate? There is nothing I would want to hide from you. And there is no reason for me to lie to you anyway because I’ll always be prepared to fight it out if you disagree with anything I say or do.”

“I suspect you’ll usually be on the winning side too. You going to have another go at your Dad?”

“I’ll persuade him. I want him in Charlotte, near us, as he gets older. I want him to be around us and the kids. I hope you’re okay with it. It’s money that I’ve had stashed away for a long time. It won’t impact on us financially …”

“I have no problem with it at all. I want our families around us too.”

“And just so you know … my Dad is actually _completely_ on board with us. He will freely admit that he was a bit unsure when I first told him we were together again, but he said within an hour of arriving he was 100% persuaded. And he’s really thrilled that he’s actually here for tomorrow, even though it’s a total coincidence.”

“My Mom is too. Could barely contain her excitement.”

“Good. Now … do you think we can stop talking about our parents and start enjoying our last night before we become an old married couple?”


	20. It All Comes Down To This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Happy Annie?” Nathan asks her, stroking his hand over her head. “You wanna know a secret? Me too?”  
She leans towards him and pats her palms on his cheeks.  
“Natnat.”  
“Yeah, baby,” he grins.  
She stops and smiles beautifully at him.  
“Natnat. Kith.”  
“Kiss?” he asks and she leans forward a little more, popping her lips together.  
“Kith.”  
His eyes gleam a little and he wraps one arm around Peyton’s waist, pulling the two of them, his two gorgeous girls, closer. He presses a gentle kiss to Annie’s forehead, then one to the end of her tiny nose. She giggles then pops her lips again and kisses him on his cheek.  
“Kith.”  
“I just gave you two kisses, munchkin!”  
“Natnat. Kith. Mama.”  
“Oh,” he says knowingly. “You want me to kiss your Mama?”  
He leans a little and presses his lips to Peyton’s temple. Pauses there a moment.  
“What do you think, Mrs Scott? Can I kiss my wife in front of the kids?”  
“You better!” she laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. Hope you have enjoyed my little story. Now I need to decide which of the incomplete ones I work on next!

The wine is exceptional, the caterers are both professional and charming, the food is delicious.

Brooke, well she is Brooke after all, throws in a surprise of her own and secretly arranges for every last guest to wear shirts in a colour to honour the newly appointed college basketball assistant coach in their midst. Nathan, already a little nervy for reasons unknown to anyone other than him, Peyton, Larry, Deb and Jamie and shaky enough to have cut himself shaving and having to wait _freaking forever_ for it to stop bleeding, just stands, gawping, when he finally comes down stairs to find a sea of Duke blue on his deck.

“What the …?” he eventually manages to force out.

“Hotshot!” Brooke exclaims, spotting him. “Happy Duke Day! Or something like that.”

“I … Brooke … this is … you did this?”

“Yep.”

“You are one sneaky woman, Brooke Davis.”

“Hell yes, I am! Now grab a glass of this excellent champagne and let’s toast!”

He looks around, scanning the crowd for Peyton, eventually spotting her next to Whitey. She’s in blue too, though a half hour ago when he took off upstairs for what was supposed to be a quick shower before everyone arrived, she was in a stunning green that matched her eyes. So … she was in on it. He needs to watch her; she’s far too good at keeping secrets, his fiancée.

His eyes meet hers and he shakes his head when she laughs and raises her glass to him, then blows him a kiss.

“Nathan.”

“Oh, hey, Lucas,” he replies when he turns to see his brother approaching.

“Thanks for including me,” Lucas says genuinely. “You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate that you did.”

“I owed you one,” Nathan tells him.

“What? You put in a good word for me at the school when you resigned. I think I owe you not vice versa.”

“Nah; that was Peyton’s idea.”  
“It was?”

“She kind of insisted.”  
“And when Peyton Sawyer twists your arm …”  
“Yeah. That.” Nathan chuckles.

“So … what exactly did you owe me one for? ‘Cos I don’t think me being a dick to you is what you mean?”  
“You made her realise she had to come back to me,” Nathan says simply, gesturing towards the woman he still has to _force_ himself to take his eyes off.

“I … yeah, okay,” Lucas nods. “But if you don’t think she would’ve come back anyway, you’re mad.”  
“You think she wouldn’t have gotten on the plane?”  
“No,” Luke says, shaking his head. “I think she would’ve. But she’d also have come back pretty damned quickly. She saw someone that looked a bit like you from behind and that freaked her out in about a million different ways. She was getting it.”

“Well,” Nathan says, taking a long sip from his champagne flute, “thanks anyway. I … don’t really know what else to …”  
“Leave it, Nathan,” Lucas insists quietly. “Just … I know we’re not gonna be in the same town, but not too far apart. I just … can we …?”  
“Yeah,” Nathan nods. “Yeah, we can, Luke.”

He circulates, accepts congratulations from everyone he talks to, for his excellent choice in wife to be (_little do they know!_ he thinks) and for the new phase of his career, which commences on Monday. And always, his gaze gets pulled back to her as she also circulates. He catches her showing off her ring more than once and that fills him with pride. She’s been wearing his ring for a month. By the end of the day, there’ll be another one next to it. He finds he’s unconsciously been rubbing his thumb over his own ring finger and shakes his head.

An hour or so later he watches as Peyton looks down, pulls her phone from her jeans, excuses herself from Whitey’s conversation and steps inside the house to answer the call. She takes only a moment before she’s done; looks up to find Nathan watching her with a questioning look. She nods then walks lightly through the living room and around the corner into the hall. He excuses himself from his brother and Skills and follows Peyton, placing his glass on the kitchen counter as he passes it.

She already has the front door open, and is greeting Celia, the lovely celebrant they’d met a fortnight ago. Celia glances between the two of them, looking puzzled.

“I thought you were going to wear white shirts?” she asks.

“We just need a minute,” Peyton replies, indicating a closed door to the right. “Can we …?”  
“I’ll wait right here,” Celia smiles. “If anyone comes and asks me why I’m hovering suspiciously by your front door, I’ll tell them … something.”

They duck into the small closet space, pull the door to and each swiftly change into their white shirt; clean, pressed, hanging patiently since earlier that morning.

“Shirt 3,” Peyton grins. “I’m getting good at quick changes.”  
“Not quite good enough,” he laughs.

“What?”  
“I’m sorry, babe,” he says, resting his hands on her shoulders, “but I can’t marry you like that.”  
“Like what?” she squawks at him. She’d be nervous at his declaration if it wasn’t for the warm shine in his eyes and the warm tone to that ‘babe’.

“Buttons.”

She looks down to find she’s misaligned the buttons and one side of her shirt is hanging inches below the other.

“Let me?” he asks, pulling her to him and kissing her forehead. She nods and steps back, and he quickly unbuttons her shirt.

“Think we could just stay in here for a bit?” he teases, his eyes raking over the stunning silk bra he’s just revealed.

“Whatever for?” she teases back, eyes laughing.

“So that we can consummate our marriage?” he asks, hands returning to her hips and lips descending to press against hers.

“Nathan!” she laughs, pushing him away. “There’s no marriage to consummate just yet!”  
“Minor detail,” he quips dismissively, kissing her again, inhaling her sweet and spicy scent. “Hmmm. I ever tell you you turn me on?”

“Many times! Now do up my buttons, Mister!”

“Ah well, if I _must_,” he sighs, swiftly complying then standing back and taking her in. “Gorgeous.”  
“Nathan …” she protests coyly.

“Nope. You are, Mrs Scott-to-be-in-about-ten-minutes. Totally gorgeous.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not so bad yourself, Mr Scott.”

“Alright. Ready?”

“Ready.”

He opens the door to find Celia still waiting. She looks at them knowingly with a raised eyebrow, then a wink.

“Nathan, Peyton; shall we?” she suggests, gesturing down the hallway.

They join her and the three walk together, turning into the living room and walk towards the open doorway out to the deck, at which point Celia takes Peyton’s hand and leans in to speak to her.

“Just as well that’s kiss-proof lipstick, my dear.”

Peyton bursts into loud laughter which makes the entire group of party goers turn to look at the three of them; Nathan and Peyton in jeans and white shirts, standing in the doorway with a slim, bright-eyed middle-aged woman who’s carrying a small binder.

Larry and Deb, with Jamie carrying Annie, approach them immediately and a couple of people ask what’s going on, while others shrug and start chatting to their neighbours again. Peyton, after a nudge from Nathan, asks her Dad to cover Annie’s ears then raises her fingers to her mouth to emit a long, loud whistle.

“Listen up, folks,” she says when there’s silence. “We want to introduce someone to you all. This lovely lady is Celia. She’s a celebrant. And she’s …”

She stops, suddenly teary and … swallows and … Nathan slips his hand into hers and entwines their fingers and leans in to press a kiss to her temple.

“And she’s going to marry this gorgeous, amazing, wonderful woman to me,” he says. “And she’s going to do it now. So, if you haven’t got a glass of bubbles, get one, ‘cos in a few minutes you’ll be toasting to Mr and Mrs Scott.”

It’s funny, he thinks, how it took them years – _years _– to get here and then Celia’s part in the ceremony seems to be over in the blink of an eye, and everyone’s looking at him, waiting for him to do what Celia just said he would. Right. Vows.

He grins disarmingly and shakes his head and shrugs a boyish shrug.

“Somehow in all the craziness of the last few weeks, I didn’t quite get to writing vows,” he says to Peyton. “I tried … I really did, but … I’m not the wordsmith in this family so in the end I thought I’d wing it. I figured that once I was standing here, surrounded by our friends and family, and looking at you, that the right words would come. Well, either that I’d be left absolutely speechless like some kind of idiot.”

He stops and draws in a long breath, then reaches for her hands.

“Peyton Elizabeth, you just … floor me. Every day in a new way, you floor me. You’re an amazing Mom. You’re going to be an amazing step-Mom. Your talent and your kindness and your strength and resilience. Your ability to forgive and just … _everything_ about you amazes me. And that’s without even starting on how completely and utterly gorgeous you are. And don’t even think about denying it! I love you. So much it’s ridiculous, quite frankly. I love you. Did I already say that? I feel like I’ve loved you forever and I promise I will keep loving you forever. You and Annie both. And I am so freaking pleased that just a few months ago, something made me stop to help a strange woman with her luggage at LAX.”

She just stands, looking at him, her green eyes welling up a little and then she laughs and removes her right hand from his to take a small piece of paper from her back pocket. She looks at it then laughs again and scrunches it up, then returns it to her pocket.

“Well,” she says, placing her hand back into his outstretched one. “I guess if you can wing it, then I can too.”

She swallows and take a deep breath, and opens her mouth then closes it, a solitary tear threatening to fall. He laughs at her, releases her hand and wipes his thumb gently under her eye and then takes her hand again and squeezes both of her hands gently and winks and then she’s fine.

“Nathan Royal, you didn’t just help me with my luggage; you’ve helped me with my _baggage_. I had so much of it, built up over so many years … and you have been so patient. You always know just what to say and just what to do to take away my fear, to take down the walls. You knew that when we were little more than kids, and you somehow still knew it years later at a serendipitous bumping into each other at an airport. You … you didn’t just provide a safe haven for the summer; you _were_ the safe haven for the summer and now … now you’re going to be the safe haven for all my summers to come. And falls. And springs. And winters. I love you; you, Jamie, our brilliant little family. And I promise I will keep loving you forever, too.”

They slip simple gold bands onto each other’s fingers and Celia declares them husband and wife, and before anything else can happen, Jamie launches himself at them both, pulling them into a three-person hug while Larry and Deb exchange amused looks.

Peyton reaches to take Annie from her Dad and her daughter chortles, then claps her hands.

“Happy Annie?” Nathan asks her, stroking his hand over her head. “You wanna know a secret? Me too?”

She leans towards him and pats her palms on his cheeks.

“Natnat.”

“Yeah, baby,” he grins.

She stops and smiles beautifully at him.

“Natnat. Kith.”

“Kiss?” he asks and she leans forward a little more, popping her lips together.

“Kith.”

His eyes gleam a little and he wraps one arm around Peyton’s waist, pulling the two of them, his two gorgeous girls, closer. He presses a gentle kiss to Annie’s forehead, then one to the end of her tiny nose. She giggles then pops her lips again and kisses him on his cheek.

“Kith.”  
“I just gave you two kisses, munchkin!”

“Natnat. Kith. Mama.”

“Oh,” he says knowingly. “You want me to kiss your Mama?”

He leans a little and presses his lips to Peyton’s temple. Pauses there a moment.

“What do you think, Mrs Scott? Can I kiss my wife in front of the kids?”

“You better!” she laughs.

He pulls back just a whisper and his thumb strokes the side of her neck, just below her ear, across the thumping pulse.

“C’mere,” he whispers, pulls her in and finally, _finally _his lips are on hers.

Peyton expects Brooke to be just a little pissed that they sprung a wedding on her, denying her the opportunity to create her best friend’s wedding dress, but when the new Mrs Scott approaches Ms Davis, the latter merely hugs her tight and whispers love and best wishes in her ear.

“Brooke? You okay?” Peyton asks. “I was anticipating a Davis Temper Tanty about this.”  
“I’m fine, P. Sawyer,” Brooke replies raspily. “I get it. I do. This was … very you.”

“You seem a little …”  
Brooke shrugs, then when she sees how concerned Peyton still looks, she shows her phone to her friend. A phone with a contact showing on the screen. A head shot of a brunette with a cheeky boyish grin. A contact named Julian Baker.

Peyton lays her hand over Brooke’s and gives it an encouraging squeeze.

“You were going to call him?”

“I … think so? It’s … it’s hard. But … I look at you and Nathan and I just … if you can come back to each after _everything_? You know … maybe …”

“You’re afraid.”  
“Yeah.”  
“And you’re_ brave_. And strong. And amazing.”  
“Yeah,” Brooke says with a tentative smile. “I am, right?”  
“Yes,” Peyton says firmly. “And forgiving.”

“Forgiving?”

“Yep,” Peyton says, then quick as flash, takes Brooke’s thumb and presses it onto the green call button. Then firmly but kindly, holds Brooke’s hand tightly, preventing her from disconnecting the call.

Peyton holds Brooke’s slightly panic-stricken gaze for a few seconds more until she hears a voice.

“Brooke? Hello?”

Brooke swallows and Peyton squeezes her hand again.

“Yes, Brooke is here,” she says clearly, directing her voice at the phone, “please just give her a moment. She’ll be with you in just a second.” Then gently pushes Brooke away. “Brave, strong and amazing, B. Davis.”  
“And forgiving.”  
“And forgiving.”

Brooke squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath then takes a few steps away.

“Julian? Hi. It’s … it’s me.”

Eventually, everyone has gone, a chorus of well wishes and congratulations and a fair few cheeky remarks about the first night of the ‘honeymoon’. Deb has bullied them into letting her take Jamie and Annie, along with Larry, with her for the night, arguing that if they weren’t jetting off to some warm, exotic locale then they least they could do was to have one night _alone_ to enjoy being newlyweds.

The caterers have left the kitchen spotless and Brooke, a fairly pregnant Bevin, and anyone else the perky duo could railroad, have made sure the rest of the downstairs and deck of the beach house are pretty much immaculate. And something resembling peace has settled.

Having seen the last of the guests off, Nathan comes back in to find some groovy old R&B playing, but Peyton nowhere in sight. Having checked the deck, the pier, downstairs and up, he eventually finds her in the ensuite bathroom, sitting on the side of the bath, lost in thought. He leans against the doorframe, watching, and waiting for her to notice him. It takes so long that eventually he speaks.

“Hey, wifey.”

She startles, her hand opening and a small plastic container falling to the floor. It rolls towards him and he picks it up.

“Where were you, Sawyer? I’ve been standing here admiring the view for ages and you were miles away.”

He hands her the container without looking at it. She doesn’t answer him and he’s suddenly concerned. He sits next to her, turns her face towards him.

“What’s going on? Buyer’s remorse already? Sorry but you’re stuck with the merchandise now, lady. No returns accepted.”

He earns a small smile from her but she’s really not present.

“Peyton. Seriously. What’s going on? You’re freaking me out a bit.”

She hands him back the container and he reads the label. He has absolutely no idea what it is.

“What is this? Is something going on with you that you haven’t told me about?”

“No. I just … remember I went to the clinic? Um … six weeks ago?”

“Yeah. For the morning after pill.”

“That’s them ... in that container. I got them then forgot to take them. I ran into your Dad coming out of the clinic and he basically guessed why I was there. He’s _seriously _spooky, that guy. Then Brooke called me and we met up for coffee, then I got Jamie, then everything got crazy for the next few days and weeks and … I completely forgot to take them.”

“What made you think of this now?”

“Bevin was saying, when she left, that she was going to have to go get proper maternity clothes soon and I realized I’m late.”

“You think you’re pregnant?”

There’s something in his voice. And as well as she knows him, she can’t tell if it’s good or bad. Maybe because her head is full of fifty thousand different things, and she can’t tell if they’re good or bad either.

“I don’t know. Could just be … all the craziness making me late, I guess.”

“Well, do you want to go and get a test?” he asks calmly.

“On our wedding night? God, Nathan, why aren’t you freaking out?”

“Don’t you remember what I said when you told me you were going to the clinic to get this?” He shakes the container. “I asked you if it would be such a bad thing. I want more kids. I want them with you. You know this. Why would I freak out?”

“Because we got married _today_. We only _just_ became a family. You start your new job on Monday. We’re moving this household to Durham next weekend. Annie isn’t even one yet. This is so much for Jamie to be getting used to. We …”

“Babe, you need to breathe. C’mon, let’s go,” he says, taking a couple of steps towards her, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet. “We’ll go get a test so we know.”

So he bundles her into the car and they head into the nearest pharmacy. She can’t make herself get out of the car but she can bring herself to say “Get two. Or three even.” So he goes in and gets a handful of tests, smiles at the cashier and asks her to keep her fingers crossed for him and his brand new wife. She smiles and says “For what result?” And he smiles back and says “positive, of course.” She wishes him the luck he asked for, and he’s out the door.

The drive home seems very short, the wait for the little line on the three tests she takes seems very long. He waits right with her. She knows he’s hoping for positive but she’s not quite sure what she’s hoping for. She does want this, but she’s not quite sure she wants it _now_. She feels like she needs to stop and breathe for just a little while. A _very little_ while would be fine. And even though they’re married, and she’s never been this happy, and she thinks this guy,_ her_ guy, may well be the best Dad she’s ever seen, she thinks she’d like the next one to be 100% planned.

He’s _really_ disappointed. She can tell, though he tries not to show it, and she loves him for that. She drops the tests in the waste basket and turns into his arms.

“You’re disappointed, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he admits, closing his eyes momentarily. “I know you’re not quite ready but ...”

She shakes her head and brings his head down so she can place a tender kiss on those perfect lips.

“Let’s start trying,” she murmurs against his mouth.

“Babe, you don’t have to say that just because I’m disappointed.”

“I’m not. I want a little time to catch my breath but not long. Just a couple of weeks to be … I don’t know what … just a couple of weeks … And if we were already pregnant I’d be feeling a bit pressured. And I’d really like to have at least one that’s actually planned. So let’s plan … let’s get moved and then let’s start trying.”

“At_ least_ one? That sounds promising.”

“You want your own basketball team, don’t you?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Can we take this one at a time?”  
“As long as we’re starting right now…” And he sweeps her up, bridal style, and carries her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. “If we’re going to start trying as soon we’re in our new house, then we need to practice; make sure we get it right and do that new place justice. I think we need to practice _really_ hard, Mrs Scott. And several times ... just to be sure.”


End file.
